Mend Me
by RoundKick
Summary: Harry returns from the war to teach at Hogwarts. He never would have guessed that Draco Malfoy had enough nerve to teach in a school that he helped to destroy. He never thought that he would be able to overcome their hatred for one another. He never thought that Malfoy was as broken as he was. He never thought that they could help each other mend. Slow build romance. Hurt/Comfort.
1. Chapter 1

Harry stared at his own reflection in the grimy mirror. The man that stared back at him felt like a stranger. Although it had only been one year since The Battle at Hogwarts, the deep scars and lines written into his face made it look like it had been twenty.

Rebuilding the castle had not been easy. The remains of dark magic still lingered in the castle's walls, making repairing them by magic extremely difficult, if not, then impossible. Particular chunks of heavy cinder block or stone statue had to lifted and repaired by backbreaking manual labor. Most of the wizards and witches who had stayed to help rebuild the castle heavily complained or outright refused to do "muggle labor," which meant Harry was lifting stone by himself. Although most people thought otherwise, Harry greatly enjoyed the backbreaking work. In fact, he craved it. He craved a distraction; a distraction from the war, a distraction from the countless deaths and injuries he had caused, a distraction from the Firewhiskey he would have been inevitably drinking, if his efforts hadn't been derailed by the distraction.

But now, a year later, the castle had been rebuilt, and Harry was looking for another distraction. Perhaps that is the reason that he accepted the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching post at Hogwarts when Headmaster McGonagall had offered it to him. Or perhaps he accepted it because he realized that he had nowhere to go after the war. No place to call home. Perhaps he didn't want to step into the press and publicity. He imagined _The Daily Prophet_ titles: "The-Boy-Who-Lived Lives Again!" "How Does Defeating The World's Most Powerful Dark Wizard Feel?" "Who is Harry Potter's Latest Post-War Love Interest?" (Written by Rita Skeeter, of course.)

All of those reasons led to where Harry was now: Standing in front of a grimy mirror, in a dark bathroom in his room at Hogwarts, about to attend the First Day of Term Feast in the Great Hall as a teacher, not a student.

With one final glance at the mirror, Harry slipped on his black wizard robes, and walked out of his room.

The Great Hall was already filled with students when Harry walked in. Although some students stopped their conversations to point and whisper at him, most students paid no mind to their new teacher. The first years had not entered the Hall yet, so most of the people sitting down at their house tables were accustomed to Harry's appearance.

Most of the teachers from the former year had stayed to teach at Hogwarts as well. At the teacher's table all the chairs were filled with a body except for the two on the end. One was meant for Harry, of course, but the chair that was supposed to belong to Professor Slughorn, the potions teacher, remained empty as well. Harry took the chair next to the one on the end. While the other teachers took this time to babble, Harry looked puzzled, trying to deduce whom the new potions teacher could be.

By the time the first years had waddled into The Great Hall, the potions chair had still not been filled. The first years were now lined up; they were about to be sorted. Just as Professor Flitwick started to call the first name off the roll of many, the doors to The Great Hall Burst open.

The man who walked in tried to keep his head down. As hard as he tried, the light thriving from the hundreds of candles threw his face into relief. The man's face was almost as deeply carved as Harry's. The bags that lay heavy under his eyes were so deep that they looked like they had been drawn on with permanent ink. He work all black wizards' robes that had been buttoned up to his throat, presumably to cover up more bruises and wounds. The crisp blackness of his clothing gave his pale skin an eerie glow, as if all the life and color had been sucked out of it. His platinum blond hair looked white under the light of the Hall.

Even the first years stared as the man walked curtly down the side of the Hall up to the empty chair next to Harry. When the man looked up to give a curt nod to McGonagall, Harry's face flushed with anger. Sitting next to him in the potions chair was Draco Malfoy.

As tradition states, Flitwick had to finish the sorting before introducing new teachers. During this time, Harry had to use all of his willpower not to outright glare at Malfoy, or as it is now, _Professor_ Malfoy. Harry's neck and face were flushed red with anger. How could the man, no, the coward who killed Albus Dumbledore be sitting next to him at the teachers' table at Hogwarts? How could the coward sitting next to him who bared the Dark Mark be allowed to teach? How could he be expected to work with the coward who made his life _miserable_ during his school years?

Harry glared at Malfoy from the corners of his eyes. Harry was almost sure that Malfoy was reading his mind, that he knew that Harry wanted to hex him. However, if he knew of any of Harry's death threats, he showed no sign. Malfoy sat with his mouth pinched into a line so tight that he would give McGonagall a run for her money. His hands were clasped tightly on his lap, and his hard and cold glance remained firmly stuck to his dinner plate.

Once all of the first years had been sorted, McGonagall gave her word and the once empty trays in front of them magically filled themselves with food.

Although the din in The Great Hall was insurmountable, Malfoy and Harry sat in complete silence; they refused to acknowledge one another. Harry only started to converse with his peers when Professor Sinastra asked for his expert opinion of this year's Quidditch teams.

When the talking in The Great Hall started to lull, Headmaster McGonagall raised her hand and the noise of The Great Hall began to fade. As strict as she was, she still had to wait a couple of seconds before there was impenetrable silence. If she was Dumbledore, the Hall would have fell quiet the moment her hand was raised.

"Welcome students, to the start of another fine year at Hogwarts!" A round of applause interrupted her before she could continue. "A quick reminder to returning students, and oncoming students alike; The Forbidden Forest is indeed forbidden to all students. Mr. Filch," Harry could have sworn he heard a hint of amusement in her voice. "has reminded me to inform you that all Weasley and Zonko's products are banned from the school's corridors. For a full list of every banned item, please visit Mr. Filch's office." McGonagall took a deep breath before she continued. "Now, as many of you may well know, The Battle of Hogwarts proceeded to destroy many aspects of the castle." Although it seemed impossible, Malfoy's head sunk lower onto his shoulders. Harry could have sworn that he saw him slide down in his seat. "It is because of this, that I must warn you. If you are to come across any item or object that looks like Dark Magic could have touched it, you are to inform a teacher at once. Under no circumstances should you attempt to touch or use it. If you or your friend seems to be acting abnormally, you are to contact a teacher at once." McGonagall's expression seemed to soften a little. "This castle has old magic living in it's very walls. It is meant to protect and nurture it's students. However, even the oldest and strongest of magic can fault if harmed by Dark Magic. We have repaired the castle to the best of our abilities, so please do take care and try not to redamage it." The silence was withheld. No one seemed to be moving. McGonagall started to speak once more. "On that note, I would like to introduce your two newest teachers. Professor Potter," she was interrupted by an instant burst of applause. Harry could not suppress the small smile that creeped it's way onto his face. "Who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Professor Malfoy, who will be teaching Potions." The applause that Malfoy received was significantly quieter than the one Harry received, but it was an applause nevertheless. "Now, will the prefects of each house please lead their first years to your own common room. Of to bed everyone! Goodnight!" The sound of the benches scraping against the floor was deafening. Before Harry had even started to stand up, Malfoy had already risen and exited The Great Hall.

Long after the feast had ended, Harry found himself back where he originally started: standing in front of the dirty mirror in his room. His anger at seeing Malfoy has long since been replaced by tiredness. He reached to run the cold water tap and splashed his face. When he looked back up into the mirror his face was drenched in water. The griminess of the mirror could not dull the emerald green of his eyes. He realized that he, like Malfoy was pale as well. Harry looked as though he hadn't seen the sun in several months. His jet-black hair stood out against his pasty skin. _What am I doing here?_ He thought to himself. The Battle of Hogwarts had left scars on Harry that couldn't be seen by the visible eye. How could such a damaged soul expect to motivate his students to strive for excellence?

Too tired to answer his own question, Harry walked out of the bathroom and into his bed. Malfoy would have to be left to deal with on a different hour. Harry drifted of into what he was sure to be a greatly interrupted sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry woke up trembling and covered in sweat. Scenes from last night's dream flashed before his eyes. He saw Ron and Hermonie dead; he saw Hagrid covered in blood; he saw nameless innocents all lying dead on the floor all because of him. He wrapped his arms around himself because he knew that no one else would. He placed his head on his knees and he struggled to regain control of his breathing.

Harry slowly unraveled himself and stood up. He covered his mouth while he coughed; that fact that he did so without pain at least meant that he hadn't been screaming last night. He stood still for one second; he allowed himself one second of grief before he put himself into motion.

He showered quickly, letting the hot water wash away all of the pain from last night's dream. After slipping on a clean pair of robes, he took a deep breath, then proceeded to The Great Hall for breakfast.

All the teacher's chairs were filled except for two: one was Trelawney's, and one was Malfoy's. _Malfoy_ he thought. His anger from last night flared instantly. He would go to McGonagall today and ask her about him.

All of Harry's classes ran smoothly. The only interruption was when a first year Ravenclaw started squealing and jumping up and down when he walked by her in the corridor.

Apart from the Ravenclaw girl, he liked the first years. All of his students showed a strong desire to learn. Even the Slytherin's showed excitement when he said that they would be learning how to tackle boggarts this year. Perhaps the events of the former year had made the first years more determined to prepare himself or herself for whatever or whoever might cross their paths in the future.

By the time Harry had reached Lunchtime, he was exhausted. However, he promised himself that he would find the reason for Malfoy's employment. With Dumbledore's death to fuel him, he started the trek up to the Headmistress's office.

If McGonagall hadn't been walking to enter her office herself, he would have been stuck standing in front of her office for a while, because he realized that he had no idea what the password was. "What is it Pott- er- Harry?" McGonagall still had not gotten over her habit of calling Harry, "Potter," as she called him when he was a student. Harry was her equal now. "Er, yeah. I was wondering if I could ask you about certain… employment decisions you have made." She looked like she was trying to suppress a glare at him. "Very well, I had a feeling this would happen. Step inside with me."

The office that formerly belonged to Dumbledore had not changed much. All the portraits were silenced at once by the Headmistress's entrance. The biggest change was that the perch where Fawks, Dumbledore's phoenix once stood was no longer there. A large pile of old looking books replaced it.

Harry sat down across from McGonagall. She started to move things around on her desk; she seemed to be avoiding the conversation as long as possible. At last, she clasped her hands on her lap and she began. "I assume this is about me choosing to employ Professor Malfoy?" Yes!" Harry's anger ignited as quickly as it did the night before, when he heard McGonagall call Malfoy, 'Professor'. "How in the world could you employ him? He was a Death Eater! He worked for Voldemort! He almost killed Dumbledore! How could you let such a monster teach in a school which he participated in destroying?" "I would be very careful with who you call a monster Potter." She said coldly. "As for your other concerns, the war is over. Malfoy himself did not choose the path he went down, his parents did. You very well already know that. Furthermore-" "Professor! He disarmed Dumbledore that night! He was the reason why Snape could kill him!" Harry knew that Snape was supposed to kill Dumbledore, that it had been planed months in advance, but Harry could still not help harboring anger towards Malfoy and Snape regardless. "He let Death Eaters into the school through the vanishing cabinet in the Room of Require-" "Enough!" McGonagall looked exasperated, yet it did not soften her cold stare. "Dumbledore was known for given second chances, especially to those who deserve them. I know that you and Malfoy have a history-" "We do!" Harry interrupted her yet again. "He made my life miserable in school!" "Now you are just letting your personal interests get involved Harry!" McGonagall fumed. "Malfoy was the top in his class in potions aside from Ms. Granger. He was the only one willing to take the job especially after what had happened last year! Now if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do then to listen to you whine about my teachers! If you wish to complain about my authority, go to the Ministry! Until then, get out of my office!"

Harry stomped out of the office. White-hot rage ran through his veins. Every inch of his body was tense with anger. His hand tightly grasped his wand, as if something were about to attack him. He needed to cool down before his next class, because he certainly couldn't teach like this. Just as he rounded the corner to head to his room, he ran straight into Malfoy.

"You!" Harry raged. He pointed his wand at Malfoy as if he was just announced as the next great dark wizard. Malfoy smirked. Harry noticed that the smirk did not reach his eyes as it normally did; however, it was provoking nonetheless. "Hello Potter. You look a little flushed. You almost resemble one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Screwts." He spoke with a deadly calm and controlled voice, almost like he knew this confrontation was going to occur. Harry's anger started to boil over. "How _dare_ you step into this school? How dare you step into the place that gave you a home and safety as if you hadn't been the one to destroy it?" Malfoy's smirk had faded. He just looked tired now. His posture has slumped a little; he no longer had the posture of an arrogant schoolboy, but the posture of a man who hadn't slept in weeks. "Listen Potter," his voice was casual, but malice could still be detected in it. " I am not frolicking through daisies at the thought of having to work with you. In fact, I would much rather you be locked away in a hospital for the insane, but we don't all get what we want in life. I expect for you to grow up. Move on. I certainly do not like working with you, but I got over it. If it is what I need to do to keep this job, then so be it. I expect you to do the same." Harry raised his wand. He could not believe what he was hearing. "Don't you dare try and tell me what and what not to do, Malfoy." Harry whispered. "Potter, put your wand down, you look ridiculous." And with that, Malfoy turned on his heel and into the stairwell where he was headed for the dungeons.

Harry had not moved since Malfoy left. He stood in the middle of the corridor with his wand raised, pointed at where Malfoy stood less than a minute ago. Harry's anger was now mixed with confusion. Why had Malfoy not wanted to argue with him? Harry was looking for an argument. He wanted an excuse to fight, to release the anger that had been building up since yesterday at the start of school feast. He wanted Malfoy to feel the pain of watching the place you call home get destroyed. Instead, Malfoy was calm and collected and _tired._ Malfoy almost looked as bad as he did. Although Malfoy's words were as piercing as ever, they lacked the fire they once had. They lost the fight in them.

The sound of students grew louder and closer; lunch must have just be let out. In one fluid motion, Harry stowed his wand away, and made his way towards his classroom, where he had to prepare for his next class.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time the end of the first week of school had approached, Harry was exhausted. He did not realize how demanding the students were until he was no longer one himself. There was always a problem to be fixed, a fight to break up, a student to escort to the hospital wing. Besides the students, he had to be on a constant lookout for his own health. He saw one student try to slip him a love potion, and another student try to pour a sleeping draught into his mug before class had started. _Maybe Mad-Eye had the right idea when it came to carrying around a private hip flask,_ Harry thought to himself.

Since their last confrontation, Harry refused to acknowledge Malfoy's existence. This proved to be easier than he thought it would be, because Malfoy taught in the basement while he taught upstairs; he ate at the staff table while Malfoy ceased to even appear at meals at all. Every once in a while he would see Malfoy walking down the same hallway he was in, but with so many students around, it was easy for them to keep their heads down and out of each other's way.

Despite his avoidance of Malfoy, one thing still remained to bother Harry. Back in his school days, one small glance in Malfoy's general direction would have led to a full-blown confrontation, but when he was practically screaming at Malfoy in the hallway earlier in the week, Malfoy remained perfectly calm. Perfectly composed, almost as if he had expected Harry to blow-up at him. Malfoy's words lingered in Harry's mind, _I certainly do not like working with you, but I got over it. If it is what I need to do to keep this job, then so be it. I expect you to do the same._

 _I expect you to do the same._ This is what bothered Harry the most. Malfoy has caused so much evil in his life; he has caused so much pain, yet he expected Harry to follow his lead as if he were a righteous man. The more Harry thought about it, and the more his initial anger had subdued, he began to see the truth in Malfoy's words. He was now in charge of the well being of hundreds of students, and he could not let a petty school rivalry intervene with that. His job was to ensure that these students leave Hogwarts with enough knowledge to protect themselves from whoever the next Voldemort will be, and unprovoked anger could not get in the way of that.

He did not know how long it would take to work up the courage to apologize to Malfoy, be he knew it was something that had to be done. Apologizing for being wrong is far more difficult than apologizing for being right. Harry and Malfoy may never be friends, but he knew they at least would have to be able to sit next to one another without one hand tightly gripped around their wands.

Harry walked over to the one window in his office; it overlooked the black lake. The weather outside was rainy and slushy, which meant that all of the students and staff would be indoors. With all of the students either in their common rooms, or in the library, now would be the perfect time for Harry to slip into the dungeons to talk to Malfoy without students to distract him or his courage. With the one task set in his mind, he made is way to the dungeons.

As Harry reached the last floor in Hogwarts, he realized that he didn't know where in the dungeons he would be. After walking through the deeper parts of the dungeons, Harry saw a dense cloud wafting out of a classroom a couple of doors ahead of him. He walked hesitantly towards the door of the classroom; embarrassment flooded through him as he got closer to Malfoy. His own childish words echoed in his ears as he peered into the classroom from the doorway.

Malfoy appeared to be standing over a cauldron with a dense fire underneath it. His hands reached towards a near by table that contained all of the ingredients to the potion he was concocting. Sweat covered his face; Harry couldn't tell if it was from the fire or his intense concentration. Whatever was in the jar that Malfoy reached for was dark, slimy, and possibly still alive.

"Are you going to come in, or is this your attempt at impersonating one of the Hogwarts ghosts, Potter?" said Malfoy without looking up.

As Harry crept into the classroom, Malfoy put a lid on his cauldron and wiped his hands on a rag. "What do you want, Potter?" Malfoy spoke again, but this time, he looked at Harry straight in the eyes. His stare was focused, unwavering; it made Harry feel as if he was being examined under a microscope. "I, erm…" Harry fidgeted with his fingers; Malfoy's stare was extremely unnerving. "I gave some thought to our last… conversation," Malfoy snorted. Harry gave him a hard look before he continued; he let his hands drop by his sides. "I gave some thought to our last conversation and I have come the realization that there was truth to what you said, no matter how obnoxiously you said it." Malfoy remained silent. Harry took this as a cue to continue. "Although I certainly do not like you in the slightest, that should not get in the way of my, erm, _our_ students' education. For the sake of my job and our students' futures, I want to call a truce, assuming you are still searching for one."

Harry exhaled slowly. The worst was over. Although admitting that Malfoy was right had been a huge blow to his ego, but he also knew it was necessary.

Although Malfoy's face remained expressionless, Harry could tell that he was deep in thought. The smoke from the cauldron was seeping out from under the lid, giving the room an ominous mist. Malfoy's shape started to blur as the smoke fogged up Harry's glasses. Suddenly Malfoy took a step forward out of the cloud of smoke that had settled around his unmoving body. He held out his hand. "Truce." He said. A sense of relief washed over Harry. He met Malfoy's hand with his own and shook it. His grip was firm, but not to the point where it caused Harry discomfort. It gave the aura of a businesslike transaction; a contract; a deal.

When Malfoy let go of his hand, Harry turned around and quickly exited the classroom and towards the stairs that led out of the dungeons.

Calling a truce with Malfoy had been a hard thing to do, but in the end Harry was glad that he did. The weeks following the apology had been far less stressful without having to be on the constant look out for Malfoy in the corridors. Harry knew that they were nowhere close to being friends, but the air surrounding Malfoy was certainly far less tense. When Malfoy came to meals, he would acknowledge Harry with a curt nod. Harry no longer glared at Malfoy or bubbled over with anger at the sight of him, and during staff meetings, Malfoy never fought with him. Harry had not thought about raising his wand towards Malfoy since the second day of school.

The October weather made the castle slightly chiller; students now walked around with hats or scarves. The house elfs started to light the fireplaces around the school.

Harry had the students gather around a large tank on his desk; in his tank sat two grindylows. Harry watched the students' varying expressions in fascination. The braver of the students watched the tank in excitement, while others looked timid but curious. Harry remembered the first class that he started to learn about grindylows; Remus Lupin had been the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at the time. Harry held back a shutter at the thought of his dead professor/friend.

Over the course of September, Harry started to feel secure at Hogwarts. Once getting into the flow of teaching, Harry's life had been pleasantly uneventful. However, while Harry's life carried on with undisrupted calmness while awake, war and destruction continued to rage on in his mind. Every night scenes of blood and horror overtook his dreams, resulting in long, undisturbed hours of the sleepless night. Even if he managed to fall back asleep, Harry always woke up tangled in his sheets panting, his knuckles white from the way they had grasped the headboard of his bed. On his worst night he had dreamed of his final battle with Voldemort.

 _Voldemort's cold, red eyes pierced his own over the tip of his wand. His smile twisted his face into something inhumane, something pure evil. Harry tried to reach for his wand, but he found himself frozen in his place. Voldemort started to laugh wildly; it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. A burst of green light burst from the end of his wand, but instead of hitting Harry, It hit Neville, who had jumped in front of him to save him. Voldemort tried to kill Harry again and again, but every time someone had taken his place. Hermonie, Ron, Ginny, Luna… Harry started screaming for Voldemort to stop. Begging for him to kill himself instead…._

Suddenly Harry was being shaken awake by McGonagall. Harry's voice was hoarse. He must have been screaming while he was sleeping. He woke up covered in sweat and trembling uncontrollably. McGonagall met his gaze with a look of almost motherly concern in her eyes. She-

"Um, Professor? Are you ok?" Harry was jolted out of his memory. His student's voice washed over him as if someone poured a bucket of ice water over him. He could tell that he had only lost his concentration for a couple of seconds, because some of the students were still talking loudly, as if they hadn't noticed anything had happened. "Erm, yes, I am fine, thank you."

When the class was over, Harry began mentally slapping himself. Although he only lost his concentration for a mere couple of seconds, he shouldn't have lost his concentration at all. To take his mind off of his lesson, he started to search for seaweed extract, which is what the grindylows drank. He found the bottle open and on it's side with its contents spilled all over the floor. Cursing to himself, he quickly cleaned up the mess with a quick wave of his wand. The mess was gone, but so was the seaweed extract. He could make another trip to Hogsmeade, but that would take an incredibly long time, and it was already dark outside. He could hear students walking towards The Great Hall for dinner.

Harry tried to think which other teachers would have seaweed extract. Professor Sprout would have seaweed, but most likely not the extract of it. The only other teacher who he thought would have it was Malfoy. With a sigh, he started his way towards the dungeons; he would have to ask Malfoy if he had any seaweed extract to spare.

The dungeons were cold during the day, but now that it was nighttime, it was absolutely freezing. Harry could see his breath fog in front of his nose.

Malfoy was in his office. It was the only door with light escaping the cracks of its hinges. After knocking twice, a sharp voice called, "Enter."

Malfoy's office was decorated very similarly to when it was Snape's. Dark jars holding slimy objects lined the shelves of the very small room. Malfoy looked up and sneered. "To what do I owe the misfortune of having you in my office, Potter?" Harry took a deep breath. He refused to let himself be angered. "My grindylows need their dinner, but my bottle of seaweed extract was knocked over. I was wondering if you had some that I could use?" Malfoy considered what Harry had just asked for. "Certainly. I will come up to your classroom with you." Harry felt very awkward. "I wouldn't be offended if you just gave me the bottle and I went to go feed my grindylows myse-" "And risk you dropping my own personal supply of seaweed extract? I don't think so. Besides, I need to go upstairs to eat dinner anyway." With that, Malfoy grabbed a small black bottle to the left of him rose from his chair.

They walked in silence. Harry did not want Malfoy to accompany him up to his office, and much less did he want to talk to him. They rounded the corner that led to his classroom when suddenly Harry slipped and fell to the floor. Malfoy started laughing immediately. Harry stood up and brushed himself off. He looked down and saw that he had tripped on a chunk of a nearby statue. It must have been broken during the war and not repaired properly. He picked up the chunk of stone and turned around to show Malfoy.

The smirk that was on Malfoy's face was long since gone. His face morphed and twisted into a look of horror. Although his eyes were faced straight ahead, his gaze looked far off, as if he was staring at something completely different than Harry.

"Erm… Malfoy?" He did not respond. He started to tremble, and then he started to shake violently. "I didn't do it! I couldn't do it! Please stop! Don't hurt her! Please!" His voice was barely a whisper. Malfoy started to sink down the wall. His eyes were blown wide with fear. Harry couldn't move. He didn't know what to do.

"Please. PLEASE!" Malfoy's voice had risen. His normal posture of arrogance was long gone. "Stop hurting her! Punish me instead! She is all I've got! No stop- MOTHER! MOM! I beg you please stop!" Malfoy started to pull his hair, he started to hit himself. He seemed to be trying anything that would make himself feel pain, make himself suffer. Tears were streaming down his face. He made no attempt to wipe them away.

The sight of Malfoy's blood trickling down his head seemed to break Harry out of his trance. Malfoy, who was the definition of calm and composed, was breaking down. Harry tried to walk up to Malfoy, but he was too quick. "Get away from me!" Malfoy screamed. "All my fault, they are dead, all my fault… my fault…" He started to bang his head against the wall. The noise echoed down the hall like the booming of a cannon.

Harry had to stop Malfoy from himself. This time when he approached Malfoy, he put his knees on Malfoy's feet to prevent him from kicking. Harry tried grabbing Malfoy's shoulders in order to pin him down, but Malfoy was too strong. His arms continued to flail. Harry bit his lip to prevent himself from crying out when the back of Malfoy's hand caught him in the face. "Malfoy stop! You are here! Malfoy! Malfoy! _Draco!_ "

As soon as Harry said his name, Malfoy slowed his flailing. "Draco, breathe. You are alright, you are here." Although Harry had no idea what was wrong with Malfoy, but from the lost look in his eyes, he certainly wasn't at Hogwarts.

Malfoy breathing was ragged and heavy. Every time he tried to catch it, his breath hitched, and spasmed. His once out-stretched hands landed on Harry's arms which were still pinning Malfoy against the wall. His grip was made of steel. His stare went in and out of focus. His grip on Harry's arms grew tighter, as if he was trying to grab onto what was real, what could steady him, what was in front of him.

After a long while Malfoy no longer was resisting Harry/ He had stopped his involuntary movements, though his grip on Harry did not loosen. He was no longer crying, but he was still shaking violently. Every other breath of his would hitch, as if something were trying to trap it, trying to prevent it from coming free. Malfoy finally looked up at Harry.

Harry had never, _ever_ seen someone look so vulnerable in his life. Though the rest of his body was shaking, his gaze was steady. His eyes were wide with pain and fear. He was afraid of being so vulnerable, afraid that he let what happened happen.

Harry was the first one to speak. "You are here. You are safe. Everything is fine." he spoke with the tone that a mother would use when reassuring a child. "Thanks for stating the obvious." Malfoy breathed. Although the words were meant to be hurtful, Harry could not detect the malice in them. Malfoy looked far too tired to be angry.

It was one more minute before Malfoy's grip loosened. When he finally let go, his arms slid down Harry's until they reached his hands. After that they fell to the floor. His knuckles were covered in blood. In fact his head was covered in blood. His head was throbbing; he needed to get back to his room.

Malfoy started to stand up. "Woah, let me help yo-" "Don't you dare touch me, Potter," Malfoy said just as he started to fall. Harry caught him just as quickly. "Nice try. I am going to help you to the hospital wing-" "My room," Malfoy interrupted again. He looked like he was struggling to formulate words. "My room. Bring me to my room." "Fine." Harry lifted Malfoy's arm over his shoulders with surprising gentleness. Although he despised Malfoy, he could never be hateful towards him while in the state he was in.

The walk to the dungeons was slow and painful. Most of Malfoy's body weight was on Harry; he was practically carrying him. Malfoy bit his lip in attempt to suppress his groans, but did not succeed. Malfoy didn't want to talk, so Harry used this time to think.

 _What on earth just happened?_ Harry thought to himself. _He had been screaming for his mother. It sounded like she was being tortured. That would explain why he didn't look like he thought he was in Hogwarts. But why was I able to break him out of it? He broke out of it when I called him Draco. But no one called him Draco. The only people he did were Snape, and his parents. Maybe he thought I was his mother…_

Before he could finish his thoughts, they had reached Malfoy's office. Harry brought Malfoy inside. He placed Malfoy in the nearest armchair. He slowly sunk down, as if he was too tired to sit up.

The blood has stopped flowing from his wounds, but it had dried all over his face. "Malfoy, I have to clean your wounds. Where do you keep your towels?" This seemed to grab his attention. "Don't you touch me, I am going to take a shower. Get out of my room." Malfoy, who had reserved his energy being half dragged down to his office, stood up and miraculously made his way over to the small bathroom in the corner of the room. After the door closed, Harry fell into the armchair that Malfoy just came out of; there was no way he was leaving Malfoy alone after what just happened.

When Malfoy came out of the bathroom, Malfoy's walls were back up. The fear and horror that was in his eyes earlier had completely disappeared, covered by Malfoy's hard exterior.

Malfoy sat down on his bed and stared at his hands. He was wearing a black cotton shirt and black cotton sleeping pants. Harry was the first to speak. "Draco what happened to your mom?" At that, Draco's head whipped up with a speed Harry would have thought to be impossible. "Don't you ever, _ever_ call me Draco. No one has called me that since The Dar Wa- get out. GET OUT!" Malfoy almost hissed at him. Harry lingered a second longer. Malfoy was having nightmares about the war. Except the weren't only nightmares. Malfoy's fears had consumed him, consumed him in a way that rendered him completely powerless. He was at the mercy of his own emotions, and that scared him. Although you couldn't tell by his face, Harry knew because he had experienced the same thing. Sometimes he forgot that Malfoy had been on both sides of the war. He was torn between his loyalty to his parents and his loyalty to himself. Harry got up to leave. Only this time he left Malfoy's room, he left with a sense of respect towards Malfoy. Harry knew what it was like to be a victim of yourself, and it was hard and painful. He left wanting to know more of Malfoy's story. Not because he was being nosy, but because him and Malfoy were two peas in the same pod. They were similar. Harry's respect for Malfoy had risen significantly, and although Harry did not know, Malfoy's respect had risen for Harry as well.

10


	4. Chapter 4

Harry did not see Malfoy for the rest of the weekend. He did not show up during meals or in the staff room. Harry even went down to the dungeons to double check if Malfoy was walking around, but he didn't find him anywhere. Harry felt a strange sense of responsibility for Malfoy. If his guesses were correct, and Malfoy was ensnared in the dark events of the Battle of Hogwarts, then it was Harry's fault. Every death and injury inflicted upon an innocent person was Harry's fault. If it weren't for him, all the people he loved would still be alive. Harry knew what it was like to feel broken, to feel as if your emotions were being twisted and warped into something impure. He knew what it was like to not be able to talk about the dark details, but they wanted to claw their way out of your throat and into the air anyway. Whether he wanted them to be or not, he and Malfoy were connected. They were connected through sorrow and fear and loss and insanity. In the darkest parts of himself, Harry secretly indulged in the fact that Malfoy was losing control. It was payback for all of the cruelty and lies he inflicted upon all who surrounded him. This was the part of Harry that craved revenge as much as he craved the life of his parents.

One of the things that had bothered Harry the most was the way Malfoy had grasped his arms. He was sure that the only reason Malfoy grabbed him was because he was the only thing around to grab beside himself, but it confused Harry nevertheless. Malfoy grabbed him as Harry grabbed his headboard after a particularly horrid nightmare. He grabbed Harry as if he was the only thing that could stabilize him, the only thing that could keep him grounded, the only thing that could save him from himself. Harry shuttered at the thought. It was strange for a person who loathed you so much to need you so much, even if it was only for a minute. It had been a long time since some had needed him for something besides saving the world. It almost made him feel human.

Monday morning came quickly as the weekend had passed. Harry got to The Great Hall earlier than usual; he hoped to see Malfoy. The last time he saw Malfoy his was in shambles on the floor, so Harry was more anxious to see Malfoy than anything else.

After fifteen minutes of waiting, Malfoy was still nowhere to be seen. Harry let out a sigh of frustration. He was just about to leave the hall himself when Malfoy walked in.

His face was _battered_. Dark purple bruises covered his face when he had hit himself with his hands and against the wall. Ugly scabs covered where his skin was cracked. Although Malfoy had them covered pretty well, Harry could still see that his knuckles were split and bruised. His bottom lip was swollen and cut, just like the rest of his face.

The hall began to quiet down as Malfoy made his way to the staff table. A hundred pairs of eyes followed him as he traveled down the hall; he didn't acknowledge any of them. Once he made his way to his seat at the staff table, the students gradually lost interest in their teacher, and the roar of conversation started up. Despite what the students did, Harry could not stop staring at Malfoy with an open-mouthed expression. Malfoy did not acknowledge Harry as he started to heap food onto his plate.

Now that he was so close to Malfoy, he could see where his skin had turned a sickly yellow, and where a thin red line appeared at his scalp from where he had pulled at his hair so hard.

Interrupting Harry's thoughts, Malfoy said quietly, "You happy Potter? Are you happy to see me like this?" he did not look up. In fact, his seemed to have frozen. His body was tense with discomfort, and his breath was shaky. Whether it was from embarrassment or something else, he did not know. "No. No, I don't think I am, actually." At this, Malfoy did look up. He stared at Harry straight into his eyes, his look unwavering. His eyes were full with anger, but not pure anger. Not the raging fiery anger that so often possessed him. This was the anger that looking like it could shatter you into a thousand pieces, the anger that could swallow you whole, that could submerge you in darkness so thick that you think you may never see the light again. "Bloody Hell, Malfoy, what happened to you?" His expression did not flicker; his eyes did not soften. The air surrounding them was thick with tension, as if it could be ladled into a bowl.

Before anything else was said, a sharp voice said, "Professor Malfoy, a word if you don't mind." Although McGonagall's words were phrased as a suggestion, her tone assured Harry that the matter was not up for debate. Before Malfoy got up, he dropped his voice so low that Harry almost couldn't hear him. "Don't you ever, _ever,_ bring this up. Ever. If you do, I swear _I will kill you._ I swear on Slytherin. I will end you." And with that, Malfoy stood up and was led off by McGonagall.

Harry released the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He knew that Malfoy was unpredictable in the way he acts, but that was not what he was expecting at all. _What was I expecting?_ He thought to himself. Nothing had changed. Just because he witnessed Malfoy in a state of vulnerability doesn't mean that they were suddenly friends. Harry automatically assumed that their relationship had altered after their encounter, but why would it? Nothing had happened between them.

Almost every class that Harry taught that day came in whispering excitedly. Harry assumed that one of the students had gotten together, or that Peaves had set off dung bombs again. At first he ignored the whispering, but by his fourth class, he became extremely agitated and could no longer stand not knowing what all the chatter was about. Harry stood meaningfully by the door as his fifth class walked in, hoping that he would catch a bit of their whispering.

"Did you see Professor Malfoy?"

"He looks like he got beat up by a troll!"

"Some people say that they heard him screaming in the corridors."

"I heard that Professor Potter had to carry him back to his room covered in blood!"

"I heard that Malfoy and Potter dueled last night!"

Harry's anger started to boil over. He forgot how quickly news traveled and how quickly it got distorted around Hogwarts. What happened between him and Malfoy had been… private, to say the least. It bothered Harry that half the school already knew about it, even if half the rumors circulating weren't true. At the end of the day it was up to Malfoy who knew about what happened last Friday night and who didn't, but if the roles were reversed, Harry certainly wouldn't want the school to know about his personal business.

Malfoy did not show up for lunch, dinner, or breakfast the next morning. Harry overheard Professor Sprout saying that a substitute teacher had stepped into Malfoy's position while he was out on "sick leave".

Over the next couple of days, the rumors Harry started to hear about Malfoy grew wilder and wilder. One said that he had attacked a first year with a potted plant. One was that he tried to fly away from Hogwarts on a broomstick, only to be stopped by Hogwarts's protection wards. The craziest one Harry overheard was that he was transfigured into a rat, but he escaped and the teachers were searching the castle look for the right rat to transfigure back into a human. Harry chuckled darkly at that one, remembering the year when Mad Eye Moody transfigured Malfoy into a ferret.

Just as the rumors spread farther and farther, Harry's wanting to talk to Malfoy grew bigger and bigger. He knew that the last time they spoke his life was threatened, but he at least wanted to see if Malfoy was any better than the last time he saw him. Thursday, after dinner Harry marched his way up to the hospital wing. He expected to see Malfoy right away, but all the beds in the infirmary were empty. He assumed that it meant that Malfoy was in his room in the dungeons, but Harry had no desire to bother him there. Instead, he made his way down to the teacher's lounge, in search of company other than his own.

The fire in the teacher's lounger roared merrily despite no one being in there. The lounge was designed similarly to each house common room; there were big, comfy armchairs, a plush rug, tables and chairs to work at, and a large window on the far side of the room. Disappointed, Harry turned around to leave when a cold voice drawled, "Leaving so soon, Potter?"

It was Malfoy. His voice was unmistakably hard and controlled, just as it always was. _As it always was besides last Friday night_ Harry thought to himself.

He walked over to the armchair that Malfoy was sitting. The back of the chair was taller than his head, which is why Harry didn't see him initially. Harry sat down in the armchair to the right of him. The small table in between the two chairs had a bottle of firewisky on top of it. It was full, except for the small amount Malfoy poured into his glass, which he was holding in his left hand.

Malfoy looked slightly better. His cuts were scabbed over and no longer an angry red color, his bruises were now a dark blue instead of purple. The fire flickered light onto Malfoy's face making bizarre looking shadows along his cheekbones. Harry's glaze flicked away quickly; he was staring.

"You want a drink Potter?" Before Harry could answer, Malfoy was pouring a second glass of fire whisky. He handed it to Harry. "Cheers," Malfoy raised his glass and took a long drink. Harry did the same. "I have to say, Malfoy, I have been in a lot of situations with you, but never did I think I we would ever drink together." Harry said with a smirk. "Yeah, well, I suppose we have some things to talk about, don't we?" Harry's smirk faded from his face. He knew that this conversation was inevitable, but he thought that he was going to be the one to start it, not Malfoy. "On Friday-" "Woah woah, slow down there." Malfoy interrupted. He paused to finish his drink, then to pour himself another one. "I am way to sober to have _that_ conversation."

6


	5. Chapter 5

They drank long and hard. They talked about light topics, like their students, grading papers, the struggles of being a teacher, anything but the elephant in the room.

"There are some crazy rumors circulating about you, you know." Harry humored. "I heard that you threw a potted plant at a student." Malfoy frowned, "I did throw a potted plant at a student." Harry's eyes widened. "Why did you do that?" "Because I heard him whispering that you were the one who beat me up." Harry chuckled darkly, but Malfoy's expression remained grim. "Then I heard another kid say that my mother sent me a howler, and it beat me up until I got like this," he gestured to himself. "Idiots. They don't know what they are talking about." Malfoy said solemnly. He took a long drink from his glass.

It was a while before Harry responded. "Malfoy, do you… remember what you were, erm, screaming about that night." It was Malfoy's turn to chuckle. "Not exactly, but let me guess, was it about my mother?" Harry slowly shook his head. Malfoy took a deep breath. It looked like he was trying to formulate exactly was he was about to say in his head.

"As you know, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was particularly… fond of my parents. In particular my father." He paused. He looked like he was fighting a war in his head, a war between secrecy and honesty. The flames from the now dying fire contorted his face with dark shadows.

"He knew that the easiest way to get to my father was through me, but I was so essential to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named plans, that he knew I could not be touched. That means the second easiest way to bend my father's will was through my mother." He gave an involuntary shutter. He wasn't crying, but his voice was no longer stable. "He tortured her. For every mistake my father made, he tortured her. He tortured her and made me watch." His voice was barely a whisper. Harry watched him, not daring to interrupt.

"He thought that making me watch my mother in agony would scare me away from disobedience. He was wrong. One night, when he had forced his Death Eaters to cut her with knives, I took my wand and killed them. That was the first time I had ever killed anyone." Another pause. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was furious. I was so foolish. I thought that me killing his servants would make him punish me instead." Malfoy gasped for air. His knuckles had turned white around the glass he was holding. Harry was afraid that it was going to break. He was afraid that Malfoy was going to break.

"He _touched_ her. He tied me down and forced me to watch. I was screaming so loudly. I didn't care how old I was. But nothing compared to the screaming my mother did. I watched her tears fall down her face; I was so helpless. I was so stupid. I watched my mother get _raped_ , and it was _all my fault._ "

His breathing was heavy, almost as it was the last time. He hadn't moved since he sat down, but he looked like he had just run a marathon. Sweat trickled down his head onto his neck, soaking the rim of his robes. "After he was- finished with her, I was the one who had to clean her up. I was the one who had to re-dress her, to clean her of his touch. My father was upstairs the whole time. When he came down, he beat me. He didn't use magic, just his bare hands. And I just lied there. I lied there and took the pain that originally should have been mine, not my mother's."

A loud shatter filled the room. The cup in Malfoy's had had broken. Dark amber liquid poured onto the floor. A piece of glass lodged itself into Malfoy's hand. Blood started to pool in his palm, but he made no move to take care of it. Harry stood up quickly and kneeled beside Malfoy, carefully avoiding the glass-strewn ground. He quickly transfigured a broken shard of glass into a pair of tweezers. Without saying a word, he got to work at pulling out the glass from Malfoy's hand. His work was sloppy at best; he was no doctor. Malfoy stared in fascination. He seemed strangely separated from the fact that his drunken enemy was yanking pieces of glass out of his hand. "Bloody hell, Malfoy, what did you do?" Harry muttered.

After wrapping his hand up in a piece of fabric he transfigured, He quickly vanished the glass on the floor, and put the now almost empty fire whisky bottle far away from Malfoy. Harry was now sitting on the floor, leaning against the arm of the chair Malfoy was still sitting in.

"So, the piece of broken statue I had in my hand that Friday…." "Yeah, it was sort of a trigger for me." Malfoy's words were slurring. Retelling his story drained him of his energy. That, and the fact that it was almost two in the morning. "And you didn't heal your bruises as a… reminder?" Malfoy nodded his head. "The same thing used to happen to me." Harry said quietly. This seemed to catch Malfoy's attention. He was no longer slouched over. He sat up, as if he were trying to urge Harry to continue. "Towards the beginning, I spent most of my days in almost a trance. I kept on reliving the deaths that I was responsible for." His voice remained quiet and steady. He fixed his gaze on the fire.

"All the deaths that could have been avoided, all the loss that shouldn't have happened, all because of me. I remember lying on the floor covered in vomit and liquor. I remember wanting to fall asleep and never wake up. It was Ginny who found me, actually."

There was a long silence. Malfoy though that Harry had fallen asleep. He was about to lean forward and check, but Harry spoke once again. "She cleaned me up. She made me take a shower. In fact, I am pretty sure she bathed me." Harry took a second to try to remember, but he must have decided it wasn't important and continued. "She made me eat, she hid my liquor, she put me together again. And then she left. I remember it was raining that day. She didn't say goodbye, but that was how I knew she had left for good." At this, Malfoy did lean forward to see Harry's facial expression. He was surprised to see that it was blank. There was no anger or hurt like Malfoy expected to see. There was nothing. Malfoy was thinking of something to say, but Harry beat him to it.

"I still have nightmares you know. Every night. Every morning I wake up covered in sweat, shivering, and hoarse from all of the screaming I did mid-dream. It was so bad McGonagall had to come and wake me up once. She thought something had happened to me." A weak smile played across his face. Both boys sat in silence. The only sound that could be heard was the dying ashes of the fire.

"Well that was- well, I- I did not expect that, Potter."

"Neither did I, Malfoy." Malfoy flinched.

"Potter?"

"Yeah?"

"Call me Draco, not Malfoy."

Harry broke his gaze from the ashes to stare at him in surprise. "Yeah? What happened to, 'Never call me Draco'?" Harry said, doing a weak impersonation of his voice. "Well, now that you practically know my whole bloody life story, I figured that you should call me by my real name." Harry nodded thoughtfully. "You can call me Harry, if you'd like." Harry offered. A faint smile played across Draco's lips. "I was going to whether you gave me permission to or not."

They sat for a little while longer, until all of the sparkers in the ashes had burned out. It was three thirty in to morning. Both boys were very drunk, and very tired, yet only one of them had to wake up for work the following morning.

Harry slowly stood up and faced Draco, who was still in the armchair. "Goodnight Draco." Harry stumbled out of the room before Draco could respond.

Draco, who was supposed to be sick, heaved himself out of his armchair and down to the basement, where he would fall asleep with all of his clothes on, on top of the covers of his bed. A couple of floors above him, Harry was doing the same thing.


	6. Chapter 6

Friday morning hit Harry like a train. When he woke up, he was still drunk, and still smelled heavily of fire whisky and flame. His head throbbed quicker than the beat of a drum. His breath tasted old and stale; he was in desperate need of toothpaste. With what seemed like an enormous effort, he heaved himself out of his bed and into a hot shower. He let the water trickle down his neck and back. As he began to truly wake up, the events of last night began to seep back into his head. He remembered the honesty, the anger, and the fear of being open. The fear of talking about your fears. The fear of talking about what makes you scream in the night, what makes you the most vulnerable.

Harry never said anything he admitted to last night out loud before. He never thought that he could muster up the courage, _or get over the embarrassment_ he thought, to claim those thoughts and actions as his own. Now that his "darkest hour" was all out in the open, he couldn't deny any of it anymore. There was no more hiding from himself.

Harry felt a wave of nervousness wash over him just as quickly as the initial wave of relief did. He had just relived hell for his worst enemy. _He is hardly my enemy anymore, is he?_ Harry questioned. If he wasn't his enemy what was he? His friend? That seemed to be just as wrong as "enemy" sounded.

Harry tried, to no avail, to look as sober as possible when he walked into The Great Hall that morning. By the time he reached the staff table, McGonagall was giving him a stern look of disapproval. That woman never missed a trick.

When he sat down in his usual chair, he noticed a small vial next to his cup. Under closer examination, Harry noticed writing on the side of the bottle. "For a clearer head." Harry silently blessed the house elves that worked at Hogwarts. He quickly uncorked the bottle and drank its contents. It tasted lemony and pungent. Harry slowly felt his hangover evaporate, as if heavy bags of sand had been lifted off of his shoulders. He felt quick and alert, just as he did every morning.

Harry stood up to depart for his first class, but a firm hand on his shoulder held him in place. It was Professor McGonagall. "May I speak to you privately, Harry?" Before he could answer he was being led into the hallway where the teachers normally entered the dining room. It was much narrower than the hallway that the students entered through. McGonagall stood with her arms crossed. She stared directly at Harry. Under her stare, Harry felt like a tiny bug under a microscope; there was nowhere to hide.

"Harry, I know you are a new teacher, but it doesn't take a genius to know that you shouldn't show up to work drunk!" She spat at him angrily. "You are a role model for the adults of our future, it is due time that you start acting like it! What was so possibly important that you had to get drunk on a Thursday night?" Harry stood motionlessly. If he told McGonagall where he was and who he was with last night, she would surely want to know why. Although no promise was ever verbally spoken, he knew enough to know that was shared last night between Draco and himself was _personal,_ and shared in private. If he wanted it to remain that way, he would have to lie to McGonagall, but is he really about to lie to his boss for Draco Malfoy?

"I assigned my seventh years a 14 inch essay, and after getting them back, I was overwhelmed. I was up late grading last night, but I stopped grading and started drinking, hoping to take the edge off. It was reckless. I am sorry. It will not happen again."

"It must certainly not!" Despite her harsh tone, Harry swore he saw her expression soften a little. "I understand how stressful this job could be, but this is what you signed up for. You need to learn how to cope." Harry did not respond. He started to examine a small crack in the floor with utter fascination.

"As it so happens, I have a second request to ask you." Harry looked up. The anger in her face was gone; she just looked like she wanted to get the conversation over with.

"Madame Hooch was supposed to give flying lessons to the first years tomorrow morning, but she has fallen ill, and is now resting in the hospital wing. Would you mind covering her class?" That was not what Harry was expecting. He felt honored that McGonagall found him skilled enough to teach the first years how to fly. It would be his first time back on a broom.

"Yeah of course! I am honored that you asked me."

A small smile crept onto her face. "Well, you are one of the best, if not the best seeker Gryffindor has ever seen." Pride shown in McGonagall's eyes just as the sun does early in the morning. "There is one downside. The amount of first years that want to learn how to fly is quite large, especially for someone who is inexperienced in teaching without two feet on the ground."

Harry blinked in confusion. She took this as a sign to continue. "I have also asked Professor Malfoy to assist you in your teaching, as he is an experienced seeker as well." Harry couldn't help but deflate slightly. He thought that he was being asked to handle the class alone. Misreading his expression, McGonagall quickly covered, "If you two are still experiencing… tensions, then I can assign Professor Sprout to the position." It took all of his will power not to burst into laughter. He tried to imagine Professor Sprout dangling in the air, her heavy weight being lifted by an old broomstick. As amusing as the sight sounded, he and Draco had turned a page. Although they weren't best friends, they did respect each other, and at least felt acquainted with one another. This would be a good test to see how far along they have really gotten.

"No. No, Dra- I mean, Professor Malfoy is fine. Him and I have reached an… understanding with one another."

McGonagall clearly looked skeptical, but only nodded her head. "Very well. Be at the pitch tomorrow at 8:30 am. The lesson starts at 9. Have a good day, Harry. Remember what I said." With that, she turned on her heel swiftly, and walked back into The Great Hall. Harry started down the corridor in the opposite direction, as it was closer to his classroom.

Classes passed on as they normally did. The concentration of the first years was exceptionally hard to ensnare, as they were all excited to learn how to fly the following day. Although their hushed whispers normally bothered him, Harry couldn't help but feel lenient. He remembered his first time on a broom; how natural it was to him. That day in his first year he was drawn into the air by Draco's taunting; it nearly got him expelled. But now when he thought back to that day, Harry only remembered a happy memory. That was the first time he had felt the wind whip thorough his fingers and clothes. The first time that Harry experienced the breathlessness that adrenaline-charged flying induced. The first time he felt truly free of all restraints. That was the first time that he had stood up to Draco. The memory seemed to be from so long ago, from a different lifetime.

Harry had no trouble falling asleep that night; his drowsiness chased its way from last night to this one. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep.

"Harry run! They have set the bloody room on fire!" Just as Harry heard Ron's shout, a wave of intense heat washed over Harry. He quickly grabbed Hermonie's arm and started to run. They ran at a heart stopping pace, consistently bobbing and weaving around the heaps of junk that had accumulated over the years.

As soon as Harry caught a glimpse of the door that led out of the Room of Requirement, a huge wall of fire blocked his path. Doing the only thing he could think of, he yelled, " _Accio_ broomsticks!" Harry, Ron, and Hermonie just managed to kick off the ground before the fire below them consumed them.

They were almost at the door when he heard a scream, "Harry help me!" He quickly turned around to see Draco standing on top of a chair, which appeared to only have three legs. He looked as if he could topple over into the flames at any moment. Making his decision, Harry zoomed towards Draco at the fastest speed his broom could take him. He reached down for Draco's hand. With a loud smack, both boys grabbed onto each other. Draco was dangling off the side of his broom. He felt his grip start to slip. "Draco, hold on!" But it was too late. Draco had already let go of Harry's hand; he was falling into the flames-

Harry sat up as quickly as possible. He ran into his bathroom and immediately emptied all of last night's dinner into his toilet. After he finished, he tucked his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around himself. He tried to control his wheezing. He focused on the cool tile floor beneath him, the dim light emulating from a burned out candle. After a couple of minutes his breath slowed, and he unraveled himself from the ball he was in.

He grabbed the side of his sink to help him up. Refusing to look at himself in the mirror, he turned on the ice water and splashed his face and the back of his neck.

Still refusing to look at himself in the mirror, he looked at his watch, which read 8:15. Suddenly remembering the promise he made to McGonagall yesterday, he dressed himself hastily and made his way down to the quidditch pitch.

That certainly wasn't the first dream Harry had that centered on death, but that was the first dream that he had with Draco in it. Normally his dreams featured the people he cared about, not old-rivals-turned-acquaintances. The worst part of the dream had been when he woke up. The worst moment was the second he opened his eyes, still hazy from the dream he had, and he felt loss. He felt empty, as if he had lost something valuable to him. In his other nightmares he woke up feeling terrified and scared, but never feeling empty. The feeling was foreign to Harry, and he was not sure that he liked it.

Whatever leftovers from his nightmare lingered were vanished as soon as Harry breathed in the fresh morning air. The air was crisp and clean. The sky was slightly cloudy, it blocked out the sun, which made the conditions perfect for quidditch.

Draco stood in the middle of the field. He was wearing all black, a stark contrast to his pale hair and skin. His bruises looked even better than they did on Thursday; most were only a light blue. He stood with his hands in his pockets. "Morning Harry." Draco nodded in Harry's direction. "Morning." Despite the mutual agreement to call each other by their first names, Harry still found it odd. Some habits die hard.

"We should go get the balls and brooms we need. The first years are going to get here soon."

"Alright then."

Both boys walked towards the locker room where the school kept their brooms. When they got there, they bewitched the brooms to carry themselves out onto the field, but they decided to carry the ball trunk themselves. The each grabbed a handle and lifted the trunk up. It was surprisingly heavy for a trunk with only a couple of balls in it.

By the time they got back outside a small crowd had formed. Most of them looked genuinely excited, but a small handful looked nervous as well. After about five minutes, the talking had quieted down. The students gazed expectedly at their professors; they were ready to start.

Harry and Draco worked surprisingly well together. Draco, who had absolutely no problem bossing everyone around, was balanced by Harry's quiet expertise. As for the students, there was quite a mixture of talent. While some took a natural liking to being in the air, others were not so lucky.

"McFlagerty that is the back of the broom not the front!"

"Gomez you actually have to be sitting on the broom for it to work!"

" No no no! You aren't supposed to hang from the broom like a sloth, Bradey!"

For every one of Draco's criticisms, Harry quickly ran over and showed the student the proper technique. By the end of the class, some of the more advanced flyers started to throw the quaffle around in the air. Seeing the students' eagerness, Draco quickly divided the flyers into two teams, and started a game of quidditch.

Although Draco and Harry both started out on the sidelines, both boys quickly got invested in the game and played alongside their students. It was the calls of protests from the beginner fliers below them that brought them back to their senses. Even though it was only for a couple of moments, Harry savored his time back up in the air. It had been a long time since he had written a broomstick for pleasure instead of trying to escape from something.

"Alright that's it for today everyone! Back up to the castle!" Even though they had been out on the pitch for more than two hours, many cries of protest and groans could be heard as the students made their way back.

"Help me bring this back to the locker rooms will you?" Draco was holding up his end of the ball trunk. Harry lifted up his handle with a grunt of discomfort; they made their way back to the locker room.

The first years weren't allowed to use the locker rooms because they were meant for house team use only, but Draco and Harry were teachers. Draco must have known that he was going to get sweaty from two hours worth of flying, because he had brought a change of robes.

"You've got the brooms Potter? Cause I am going to go and clean up." Before Harry could answer, Draco had turned around and headed towards the bathroom.

Even with magic, it took Harry three trips to lug all of the brooms back into the locker room himself. By now the gray morning light had faded into clear sunshine. It was significantly warmer than it was two hours ago. Lifting the brooms back and forth caused sweat to trickle down his neck and forehead.

He was bringing the last brooms in when Draco called out, "That was a pretty good turn out, right? I mean some of the first years weren't that bad." Draco walked into the room without a shirt on. His hair lied flat on his head; he hadn't slicked it back yet. His hair and torso were wet; _he must have taken a shower_ Harry thought to himself. He wore the same dark pants that he always wore.

Harry took a sharp intake of breath. Besides having a well-toned chest, he had scars. The parts of his skin where his scars were the biggest shown paler than the others, like white marble being reflected in the sun. Harry saw that the dark bruises that he thought only covered his neck on his collarbones and shoulders. His left arm had a bruise darker than the rest. After fixating on it, Harry realized that it was the Dark Mark. He would have thought that it had faded or even disappeared with time, but the black ink curled up his arm in obvious contrast with his skin.

The initial smirk that was plastered on Draco's face dissolved into a frown of confusion when he caught Harry standing still, his stare fixated on his body. "Uh, Potter? You are staring." But after following Harry's glaze more closely, he saw that Harry was staring at his Dark Mark, not his body.

Silently, Harry walked over to where Draco was standing and picked up his arm. His expression flickered between repulsion and curiosity. The second of the two seemed to get the better of him, because he lifted his other hand and touched his Mark lightly, tracing it with his fingertips. It was Draco's turn to inhale sharply.

"I would have thought this would have faded. I have never seen one up close before," Harry murmured. He seemed to be in a trance. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes portrayed nervousness, as if seeing the mark had drawn him into a vortex of his own thoughts. He seemed to not be aware of the awkward position they were in. Draco didn't mean to parade around shirtless; in fact, the only reason he did was because he had forgotten his shirt in this half of the locker room. He knew his body was marked with stories of good and evil, but he had always concealed them from everyone. His scars were not something that he was proud of, and certainly not something he flaunted. At least the person who had to see him like this knew of all his stories, could relate to all of his stories.

"Erm… Harry?" Harry snapped out of his daze at once. He let go of Draco's arm, which now swung lazily at his side. Harry's cheeks flushed bright red with embarrassment. He looked like he was trying to formulate some excuse to cover what just happened, but Draco beat him to it.

"Erm, Harry?" Words were pouring out of his mouth now. "Listen. I never got the chance to thank you for helping me out of my, erm, memory, that Friday night." Draco did not know what he was saying. He knew he wanted to thank him, but preferably while drunk and fully clothed. Pushing through his embarrassment, he continued.

"We weren't on the best of terms then, but you snapped me out of it regardless. I was pretty pathetic that night, so, thank you, for, erm, helping me come to my senses."

Draco shunned himself for his bulky wording, but Harry didn't seem to notice. Although Harry was no longer holding his arm, Draco could tell that he was still staring at it. "You were experiencing many things that night, and you were many things, but none of them were pathetic." Harry lifted his gaze to meet his own. He had said it in a matter-of-fact tone, but something in his expression made Draco believe him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The room had gone very quiet and very still. The steam that remained from Draco's shower wafted into the room. It surrounded around the torches on the wall, causing the fog to lighten. Harry had not stepped away from Draco. Although they were boarder line uncomfortably close, neither boy made an effort to move. He was just close enough that he could faintly feel Harry's breath ghosting over his still-wet skin. They were looking at one another without really looking at one another; Harry watched the end of Draco's platinum hair curl as it slowly began to dry, while Draco looked at the small array of freckles that dotted Harry's nose. No one moved. No one breathed. Time temporarily froze, disabling all of their sense, the voice that whispered for them to step away.

It was a long moment until either boy moved. Draco moved first, suddenly aware of the now cold water still clinging to his hair and chest. He hastily grabbed a towel to dry the rest of himself off with. In one swift motion, he reached for his black button up shirt and black wizard's robes and put both on. Harry turned away just as quickly, though he appeared to have no reason to do so. Instead, he stared at his nails with newfound interest.

Harry was the first to speak. "McGonagall will be pleased to know that our lesson went so well." His voice was flat, normal. Draco didn't know what to expect his voice to portray, but he certainly wasn't suspecting normalcy.

"Yeah she will. I'll give her an update when I head up to the castle." Draco found his own voice to be steady as well, but he didn't feel steady. He didn't know what it was, but he felt off kilter.

"Yeah ok. I am in need of a shower myself, so I am going to head back up to my room. See you later." Harry briefly looked up at Draco, though he didn't want him to see his face. Harry was afraid that Draco would be able to read him like a book. He felt sick, yet charged with electricity at the same time. Like he was about to hurl over, but also about to run across Great Britain. He left quickly, leaving the door open behind him.

Harry's effort to hide his face from Draco, though admirable, ultimately failed. Draco noticed all of the color had drained from his face. He looked like he was going to be sick, though his abrupt movements suggested that he was filled with energy. It was very conflicting.

After he left, Draco realized that his damp hair still laid flat on his head; he left his tub of hair product on the sink by the showers. With one final breath, Draco turned around and walked back into the room that he had just come from.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry felt as if a thousand thoughts were zooming around his head, but every time he reached out to grab one, they started zooming around faster. He knew that something had happened back in the locker room, but he didn't know exactly what, and that frightened him.

As soon as he saw Draco's Dark Mark he lost control over his actions. Although the mark was a symbol for all things evil and dark, it didn't frighten Harry. The mark didn't pin point specific memories, but reminded his of the war itself, as if he was looking at the concept through glass, as if it didn't apply to him. Whatever it was, it had brought him awkwardly close to Draco, but even as he let his marked arm fall from his grasp, he still could not will his feet to move. It wasn't so much of a wanting to be in close proximity with Draco, but more of a wanting not to move away. It was the first time that he and Draco were sharing something other than stories from their miserable past. They were sharing space; they were sharing breath. Although it wasn't much, Harry couldn't help but know that it wasn't _normal_ for people to do that. It wasn't normal to feel like your stomach had twisted itself into a tight knot because of someone else's presence.

As Harry reached the doors to the castle, he shoved those thoughts firmly away. He knew that what happened had been a coincidence, which it was nothing to worry over. The thought of talking to Draco himself about it quickly crossed his mind, but he exiled the thought expediently as it had entered. What had just happened was _weird_ , but it was no reason not to treat Draco as he normally did.

When he got back to his room, an owl was violently tapping on his window with its beak. It had a letter tied to its foot. Not wanting the glass to shatter, Harry quickly opened the window and took the letter off of its leg. The owl flew away just as he had started to open it.

Hey Harry,

Neville, George, Seamus, Lee, Dean, and I were all going to go to The Three Broomsticks for a drink later tonight. It will be a good pick-me-up to get some of the old gang back together again. We haven't seen you in a while mate. You don't need to respond to my owl, if you want to come, just meet us at the pub at 20:00 tonight.

Hope to see you there,

Ron

Even though Ron was still his best friend, it seemed weird to be receiving letters from him. He hadn't seen his best mate in a couple of months since Harry stayed to help rebuild the castle and Ron didn't. It also felt strange to be invited out of the castle mid school year. As a student, the only time he was allowed outside of school boundaries was on specific weekends where the school allowed him to go to Hogsmeade. But he was a teacher now; he could go wherever he pleased without the jurisdiction of others. Besides, it wasn't as if Harry wasn't in need of a distraction.

The rest of the day passed by very lazily. He spent most of his day dozing off; he forgot how tired he was. He started to grade the ever-accumulating pile of his students' homework, but that tired him even quicker than doing nothing did.

At 19:15, the weather was still relatively warm; the occasional breeze was the only thing that chilled the air. Having nothing better to do, Harry decided to walk to Hogsmeade as opposed to traveling by broomstick or apparition.

Red, brown, yellow, and orange leaves covered the grassy slopes that led away from the school. To his left, the last bit of lingering sun turned the glassy water of the Black Lake translucent. The Whomping Willow gave a threatening wave as Harry walked by it, but other than that, his walk was quite peaceful.

As it turned out, Harry was the first of his friends to arrive. The pub was unsurprisingly packed for a Saturday night. Towards the front, about a dozen goblins were drinking quietly with their heads close together; they seemed to be warped in an enticing conversation. Directly at the bar sat four wizards were talking way too loudly for anyone to think they were sober.

Harry moved towards the back of the pub where there were more empty tables. Just as he ordered his first butter beer, Ron, George, Lee, Seamus, and Dean all walked in. Seamus and Dean seemed to be in the middle of an argument; both boys were gesturing wildly. Dean almost hit one of the goblins in his long, pointy nose. Ron was the first one to spot Harry. He and the rest of their friends quickly made their way over to the table Harry was at.

"How goes it, Harry?" Ron gave Harry a firm but friendly pat on the shoulder.  
"You've already started without us?" Said Ron, gesturing to Harry's just arrived butter beer. Harry's answer was interrupted by the sound of chair scraping the floor. Everyone had taken a seat.

"Harry it has been so long since we've seen you last," Neville said factually. "Yeah that's right; you stayed and helped clean up the castle after the battle didn't you?" Lee asked. Out of the corner of Harry's eye, he saw George give a slight wince at the sound of the battle, but he quickly covered it up by pulling his sweater closer to his shoulders. _George must still be grieving his brother._ Harry mentally slapped himself. Of course he was still grieving Fred, the two had been nearly stuck together since birth. It was almost strange seeing George without Fred sitting right next to him, laughing wildly at whatever was being said. Harry seemed to be the only one to notice George wince. Had it been because the others have gotten used to seeing him like that, or because Harry had just gotten good at identifying when people were hurting? Harry noticed that Draco was off kilt even before they became acquaintances. When did he start to become so aware of other people? Harry took a long drink from his bottle.

"Harry get a load of this, Looney- erm, I mean, Luna and Neville are a dating." Ron half said, half laughed. Neville face flushed, but not before retorting, "Oh yeah? You're one to talk, cause you can't stop sucking face with Granger for more than five seconds!" Everyone but Ron burst into laughter, but Harry nearly doubled over in shock; he didn't think he had ever heard Neville defend himself before.

A round of butter beers and fire whisky got served to the table. Harry reached for the fire whisky idly and took a long sip.

"Woah, slow down there Potter, I don't want to have to carry you home." Dean piped in.

"Hey Harry, I actually have no clue what you have been up to. Not to be rude but, what are you doing now?" Seamus questioned. "I am teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts." Harry was met with faces of awe. "At least they finally have a well qualified teacher," George chuckled darkly, speaking for the first time that night.

If anyone else noticed George's dark tone, no one let on. "Yeah! I bet your one bloody Hell of a good teacher, Harry. You were a great teacher in Dumbledore's Army." Neville contributed. Everyone nodded their heads in agreement.

As the night moved on, glasses were refilled more quickly, and his friends banter got progressively louder. Harry was surprised they hadn't been kicked out of the bar yet, or worse, poisoned. He could have sworn he saw a couple of the goblins staring at Lee nastily.

"Hey Harry," Ron half shouted, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "Is it true that Malfoy is the new potions teacher? I heard the little git weaseled his way out of almost every punishment the Ministry threw at him."

Harry tried to hide the anger that attempted to flush his face. After all, he new Draco better than all of them at this point, and he knew that Draco was punished by the affects of the war more than any of them knew. With a controlled breath Harry started, "Yeah. Draco-" " _Draco?_ " Ron intervened. "Since when have you started calling him Draco? It makes it seem like you are all close and cuddly." Ron finished.

"We are not, 'close and cuddly,' Ron. Don't be a prick." Harry said a little too quickly and defensively. George raised his eyebrows in question, but didn't say anything. "Even though we aren't best mates, him and I have had an, erm, understanding." Harry spoke as if he were treading on broken glass. Even though nothing had happened between him and Draco, he still felt extremely uncomfortable acting as if he knew Draco, which he did, around people who still hated his guts.

"Rubbish. If you asked me, I would still say he is a slimy piece of garbage. He should be in Azkaban for everything he has pulled," Dean cut in.

The anger Harry was trying so badly to suppress now showed blazingly on his face. "His isn't _slimy,_ Ron. He has gone through some major shit, just as the rest of us have." "Oh and you would know?" Ron said, his voice rising dramatically. "Yes, in fact I would know. He-" Harry cut himself off. He couldn't finish that sentence without revealing what had been said to him in private. "He what, Harry? He _talked_ to you? I don't understand why you are defending him!" Ron shouted exasperatingly. Come to think of it, Harry didn't know either. He didn't owe anything to Draco, so why was he defending him? Why was he choosing his coworker over his best friend?

Before he said or did anything stupid, Harry stood up abruptly. "I am leaving. See you around, everyone." Harry stormed out of the bar.

The air had gotten significantly cold since the last time he was outside. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. His hands were balled into fists. _What are you doing?_ Harry thought angrily to himself. He just defended a dirty, disgusting, slimly scumbag-

Harry interrupted his own thoughts. He was angry, angry with himself for defending someone he didn't know nearly as well as his best friend, but he was not angry with Draco himself. It had been Harry's choice to protect Draco, not anyone else's. But why did he get so angry? Why was his first instinct to protect Draco?

It was a long time before Harry got back to his room; he must have drunk more than he thought. Although his body was telling him he was tired, he knew that there was no way he could fall asleep. He felt angry and confused and frustrated, frustrated by the fact that he didn't seem to have been in control of his body or his mouth today.

Instead of collapsing onto his bed, Harry trudged into his bathroom. The hand that reached for the candle on the wall dropped to his side. Instead, he blew it out; the flickering flame threw moving shadows across the walls that were giving him headaches. He pulled the lever in his shower that stopped the drain. Once he turned on the water, the bathtub started to fill up immediately. By the time it was full, the mirror on his wall had fogged up completely.

He sat in silence. He wrapped his arms around his legs and placed his forehead on his knees. The steam rising up from the scalding water soothed his throbbing head. The only sound that could be heard was the last of the water dripping off of the bath faucet. With every drop, Harry imagined himself melting. Like the steaming water, he imagined his anger and confusion from the bar evaporate, as if it was floating out of his head and into the air.

Most people found darkness as frightening, but Harry treated it as an old friend. In the dark, no camera could see him; no expectations could follow him. In the dark he was truly alone. He concentrated on the sound of nothing. He concentrated on the sight of utter blackness. His erratic heartbeat became even, and his breaths slowed.

Very slowly, Harry picked himself up and out of the water. He listened to the sound of the water rolling down his back and dripping out of his hair. And when he was ready, he stepped out of the tub, dried himself off, clothed himself, and went to bed. His mind drifted to how quickly his anger had ignited earlier. Looking at it now, it seemed like such a silly thing.

Ron did not know Draco's story. Neither did Neville, Seamus, Dean, Lee, or George. That was a secret only he knew, a secret he had been trusted with. Harry finally thought he knew why he had defended Draco. Because he was his friend. Not an acquaintance; a friend. A friend is someone who challenges you to push boundaries, pushes you to strive. The only one who knew about Harry's nightmares besides McGonagall, was Draco. Although he hadn't shared them with the intent to vent or find a shoulder to cry on like they did in mushy movies, Draco's honesty had challenged him be honest with himself. He made Harry spit out something that had been swallowing him whole for months.

Harry knew that he and Draco were nothing alike. Their friendship wasn't conventional; he knew Draco would never stop being arrogant and proud, but Harry didn't expect him to. But that Thursday night Draco challenged Harry to be truthful to himself, something that even Ron and Hermonie had never been able to make him do. It didn't change the fact that Harry would never see Draco as a kind person, or someone who he would hang out with, but it did make Harry respect Draco in a way that made their friendship irrefutable. With one final deep breath, Harry let sleep overtake him like a wave pulling him into the sea.

Hey everyone! I don't want to be pushy, but this is my first long story, and I would love some feedback. I am having a really great time writing this fic, and it would really make my day if I knew you guys were enjoying reading it just as much. Thank you!


	8. Chapter 8

Harry woke up on Sunday morning to the sound of an owl threatening to break down his window. Not wanting the window to break, Harry swore colorfully and stomped over the closed window. He yanked it open with unnecessary force, nearing knocking the owl off of his window ledge in the process. The owl stared at Harry angrily, then tried to push its way into Harry's room as if it was looking for a treat. "Nice try, you git. Go on." Harry closed the window before the owl had a chance to bite him.

He stared down at the letter; he recognized Mrs. Weasley's neat block hand writing immediately. Harry sat back down on his bed and tore open the letter.

Mrs. Weasley wrote to Harry quite often. Although her letters were almost reliably long and lengthy, Harry's responses were usually brief, or non-existent at all. He knew that Mrs. Weasley treated him as one of her own children, and that she kept up with him only because she truly cared, but it was still hard for Harry to write to her. Although she did not blame him for it, Harry felt heavily responsible for the dismantlement of her family. He had already caused her so much grief; it hardly seemed fair to burden her with his problems. Not that he wanted to; the second reason he rarely responded was because he was very uncomfortable talking about anything personal with anyone he didn't consider to be a very close friend. Even though he didn't respond, it still made Harry feel slightly happier knowing that at least one person was still out there thinking about him.

Harry,

It is been quite a while since we have heard from you; is everything all right? How is teaching going? For your holiday sweater I am going to knit a Hogwarts teacher's emblem onto it. I am sure you will love it. How are you handling things? You know I always worry about you, dear. I am just looking out for you.

Now, normally I try not to interfere with your social life, but I couldn't help but notice Ron came home particularly angry with you last night. At the moment he is still living at home, and you know how easy it is to overhear everything. I know you all went out drinking; so don't try to pretend that you didn't. But, what you don't know is how much I think Ron misses you. You have been trapped at Hogwarts since the summer, and he and the rest of the family haven't seen you. Please try to stop by sometime.

When Ron came stomping in last night, he was also muttering something about Draco Malfoy. I was aware that he was teaching at Hogwarts, but I had forgotten the rivalry between you two. Is everything all right between you two? I insist on reminding you that if anything happens, you should immediately go to Minerva. She would not tolerate anything fighting between you to.

Come and visit soon!

Mrs. Weasley.

Harry folded the letter back into the envelope and tossed it aside. He found Mrs. Weasley's undying concern for him endearing, but it also angered him that she was defending Ron. He wouldn't allow Mrs. Weasley to cover up for him; he wanted Ron to speak for himself. He secretly hoped that that time would come soon, because if he was being truthful with himself, he missed his best friend too. Harry had been trapped in the drama of his own world for so long that he forgot that there were still people out there that cared about him. In regards to Draco, Harry really didn't want to write to Mrs. Weasley about him; he saw how badly Ron had acted, and if he couldn't tell Ron and his friends, then he didn't want to tell anyone else about their friendship yet.

Harry quickly scrawled a response saying that he was fine, that he and Ron did have a fight, but it was nothing to worry about. He wrote that he and Draco weren't fighting, and that he had really adjusted to the teaching life at Hogwarts. After sealing it in an envelope, Harry quickly got dressed and headed up to the owlry.

The corridors were silent; they always were early in the morning on a Sunday. The students and paintings were still asleep. Harry's footsteps echoed down the hollow corridors, making it sound like hundreds of people were in it. Harry reached the base of the steps that led up to the owlry tower. With reluctance, Harry started the climb up to the top.

When he reached the top of the steps, Harry was slightly out of breath. The two giant oak doors that led to the owlry were right in front of him. Both hands closed around one of the door handles and pulled.

The owlry was beautiful if you could stand the sight and smell of owl droppings everywhere. Large wooden poles ran across the ceiling where hundreds of owls were resting quietly. Large windows surrounded the room so owls could fly in and out of the tower at their leisure; it gave the room a very open feeling. Standing at one of the window ledges next to a large, tawny owl was Draco Malfoy.

Harry drew in a quick breath. The events of yesterday started to flood back to him. Even though his mind was racing, he kept expression neutral. Harry promised himself not to mention anything from yesterday; just to be as he always was with Draco. Before he noticed Harry's presence, Harry could see could see a worried expression written on Draco's face. The expression stuck as he watched the tawny fly off with his letter attached to it.

"Hey, Draco." Harry called. Whatever worry was formerly on Draco's face was quickly stored away and replaced with a neutral expression, almost as if the worry had never been there at all. Draco turned away from the window. "Why are you up here so early, Harry?" The question was friendly, but it was laced with something else. "I am about to send a letter to the Weasleys. What about you?" "Don't worry about it." Draco snapped. Harry's eyebrows knitted together in skeptism. "When I walked in you looked worried about something." Harry stated factually "Well I am not. Everything is fine. Now if you'll excuse me I have to go and prepare for breakfast." Draco walked curtly out of the owlry.

Even though he didn't say anything, Harry knew Draco was remembering yesterday just as he was. Harry had hoped that Draco wouldn't have taken notice to the events of yesterday being abnormal, but he clearly had done so. Something was nagging him. Although Harry wasn't expecting a dramatic river of tears, he at least expected Draco to answer. Or, he at least expected for him to tell him part of the story. Furthermore, Draco was already dressed in his normal black wizards robes, and breakfast wasn't for another 45 minutes; he was clearly making excuses to leave. Harry frowned at that thought. It appeared that Draco needed a bit of breathing room, and although Harry understood why, it was still frustrating to think about.

The rest of Harry's day was quite uneventful. He continued to grade papers, and when he finished that, he made an outline for a practical exam for his first through third years. He spent the majority of his day locked up in his room. Although it wasn't the most exciting of days, it was an extremely productive one.

That evening, Draco had turned up to dinner before Harry. Beside a curt hello, the two did not say anything to one another. Instead, Harry watched the even mail get delivered to the students. The owls flew high around the ceiling, dropping what they were carrying only when they knew it would land on the intended person's lap. It looked like the sky was snowing paper.

To Harry's surprise, a letter was dropped onto Draco's lap. Draco moved to conceal the letter quickly, but Harry's sight was quicker. The crest of the Ministry of Magic was on it. "What does the ministry want from you?" Harry asked through a mouth full of food. "Mind your own bloody business, Harry," Draco retorted angrily as he got up and left The Great Hall.

Harry was taken by surprise; the last time Draco had sounded that angry with him was when they had wands pointed at each other. He wondered if the letter he saw Draco send earlier that morning was to the Ministry. Whatever it was, it was bothering Draco. Underneath his anger, Harry could see the same worried expression he was wearing earlier. It bothered Harry to know that something was bothering his friend, but he didn't know what.

Harry took a deep breath. Perhaps it was hard for Draco to look at him after the weirdness of yesterday. Harry recalled what he promised himself; he said he would give Draco his space. Perhaps that was all he needed. Determined not to think about it any longer, Harry left the dining hall and back up to his room.

Hey everyone! I am sorry this chapter is a little short, and a little, "Ehhhh". I have good plans for the next one, so bare with me. The letter to Mrs. Weasley was based off of a review I got. Please please please don't be afraid to tell me what you think of my story! Just keep in mind, if it is constructive criticism, I would be much more receptive to it you gave it to me in a respectful way. Anyways, thank you for reading this far!


	9. Chapter 9

The Great Hall was always reliably loud on Monday mornings. The students acted as if they hadn't seen each other over the weekend. So many people were entering and exiting The Great Hall at the same time that it was hard to notice specific people, only Harry did. Draco's stark black robes and fair skin stood out among the assortment of colors the students had on. He walked across The Great Hall with his head held low, as if he hoped he could blend into the floor that he walked on. He sat down next to Harry without saying hello. He noticed the deep bags hanging under Draco's eyes; they hadn't been there in a long time.

Harry was once again tempted to break his promise to himself and attempt to try and talk to him, but the look on Draco's face suggested that if he tried, Harry would get cursed into next week. Faint lines of worry and nervousness streaked across his pale face, making him look much older than he actually was.

Draco's gaze remained firmly stuck to his food until owls came flying in with the morning post. His eyes darted back and forth between the owls zooming around the ceiling as if he were terrified that one would deliver something to him. After all of the owls fled The Great Hall, he let out a long breath and let his head hang low once again. Without a word, or barely touching his food, he got up and left the hall.

Harry's second period class on Monday's was first year Slytherins and Gryffindors. The combination always led to annoying chatter and whispering throughout the class. As per usual, the students came into the classroom talking loudly about the latest Hogwarts gossip and drama. Normally Harry did his best to zone it out; he didn't really want to know what his students did behind closed doors, but today the babbling caught his attention.

"Professor Malfoy looked awful today, Toby," said a student named Violet. "Yeah I know he barely spoke today. He almost didn't notice that Josh's potion had started to sing the national anthem of Botswana." Toby replied. "He kept on rereading the same sheet of paper over and over again." Violet finished.

Harry with held a grunt of frustration. He hated knowing that his friend was in pain. It made Harry feel angry, yet strangely sad that Draco didn't trust him enough to tell him what it was. Out of all of the stories that they had shared with one another, he couldn't tell him this one?

Harry felt himself being distracted throughout the rest of his classes; he managed to drop two glass jars, and failed to notice that a grindylow was sneaking its way out of its tank. He only noticed when a Ravenclaw boy started screaming as it got closer to him.

 _I'm so stupid. If Saturday never happened, then Draco might have told me what was bothering him._ Harry thought to himself. The idea of leaving Draco alone started to seem more and more ridiculous with every whisper he heard about him. By the end of the day, Harry was going stir-crazy. He needed to know what was happening to Draco. He dismissed his last class of the day five minutes early just so he could find Draco.

Harry half walked, half ran down to the basement. The torches on the wall flickered as he ran past them. Some of the paintings started to yell at him angrily for disturbing them with his, "Childish whim." "I'm a teacher, stop nagging me!" Harry retorted.

He neared the final staircase that led to the dungeon. He used the railing to help turn himself around faster. That is when he ran face first into McGonagall.

"Harry! What on earth are you running from?" McGonagall questioned with more surprise than anger. "Professor I needed to talk to- Wait why are you in the basement?" Harry interrupted himself. "I could ask you the same thing, Harry! If you must know, I was just having a chat with Professor Malfoy-" "Draco? Professor, is everything all right with him?" Harry interrupted again.

Whatever surprise was left on McGonagall's face fled immediately. She pinched her lips into a firm line, closing her face of all emotion.

"Draco is going through some… difficulties at the moment. I felt that I was responsible to check up on him, given that I am the Headmistress, and that all of my classes have walked in talking about him." McGonagall spoke almost as if she were reciting lines from a textbook. Her eyes and voice were steady, her posture tall.

"If you'll excuse me, I am going to go to talk to him."

"No you will not, Harry. You are supposed to be up in The Great Hall right now; you are in charge of dinner."

"But Professor, dinner doesn't start until fifteen minutes."

"Harry, I-"

"Professor, _please._ "

"He doesn't want to talk to you." McGonagall spoke quietly. Harry froze in shock. "W-What?" Harry said at the same volume. McGonagall took a deep breath before continuing. "When I went to speak with him, he was very adamant that you did not go to visit him. He seemed to know that you would come."

Harry stood speechless. He did not know that Draco didn't want to see him that much. Hurt flowed through him line a river tumbling down a mountain. In a strange way, he felt like he was rejected. All he wanted to do was to help, to heal. Draco had let him before.

The more Harry thought about it, the more he realized that this time was not like before. The first time, when Draco had lost control of his emotions, Harry was just conveniently standing next to him. And the second time in the teacher's common room, Draco was just explaining himself from the first time. This time, Draco being upset had absolutely nothing to do with Harry; Draco owed him no explanations or reasons. Harry had felt almost entitled to help Draco because he was his friend, but he quickly realized that he wasn't entitled at all.

"Oh," Harry stated. What else was there to say? McGonagall's firm stare softened slightly. "Was he… supposed to want to talk to you?" McGonagall asked hesitantly. She seemed to know that she was treading on a very fine line between his business and her own, yet she persisted anyway. "No, I just- No. Nevermind, I was just curious." Harry quickly covered. "Come, I was just on my way to the hall, will you accompany me?"

The hall was loud and noisy as usual. The sound of forks and knives scraping the bottom of plates filled the hall. Despite what everyone else was doing, Harry didn't eat very much. Draco's chair was filled with the same substitute teacher that filled in for him the first time he took leave.

Harry ended up taking another bath that night. He let the darkness and silence swallow him whole. Normally he closed his eyes and let his mind simmer, but today his eyes were blown wide open, staring into nothingness, trying to catch on of the thousands of thoughts zooming around his head.

Why had he let McGonagall talk to him, but not Harry? Even if McGonagall knew the things that Harry knew about Draco, he hardly thought that they shared the same bond. The fact that Draco had a substitute teacher fill in for him must mean that whatever was bothering him was bad. It pained Harry to think that Draco could possibly be harming himself again. Harry shuttered at the memory of the dark bruises and cuts that patterned his face after his first episode. Harry knew what Draco was capable of doing to himself, and he was scared for him.

Harry knew even before he closed his eyes that tonight would not be a peaceful one for him. He tried to calm himself down as if it would help to scare away the nightmares; he was wrong.

He didn't make it to the toilet this time; as soon as Harry woke up, he vomited all over his bed. When nothing more came up, he started to dry heave. He habitually wrapped his arms around himself, as if searching for an embrace that wasn't there. As if somehow, if he held himself tight enough, he could squeeze out all of the fear that remained stirring inside of him.

After a long while, Harry looked down at the mess he had made. Struggling to choose between anger and disgust as his motivation, Harry picked himself up out of his mess and went straight into the shower. He let the water erase all of the tensions his nightmares had provoked. He imagined them seeping down the drain and into The Black Lake, never to be heard of again.

Once dressed, Harry attended to his soiled bed sheets. Five different cleaning spells were required to remove the spill. Even though the sheets were now clean by magic's standards, he still took the time to change them by hand, throwing the old ones in his small laundry hamper. He didn't want the smell of weakness and fear lingering on his pillowcase longer than it had to be.

The Great Hall was loud and buzzing as it always was. It seemed strange that the world around him looked normal, but he himself felt as if he was hit in the chest by a tempest. The substitute teacher sat in the chair that normally belonged to Draco.

When the owl post came in, Harry was surprised to see a letter dropped in front of him by a giant barn owl. The messy, slanted writing was one that he did not recognize. Turning the letter over in his hand, Harry realized that the letter was from George.

Harry,

I meant to ask you on Saturday, but quite clearly things got out of hand, and I didn't have the chance to. Is it possible that you could sneak down to The Three Broomsticks tomorrow? I meant to catch up with you on Saturday, but, well, you know how that went.

See you Wednesday,

George

Harry was not sure whether to be skeptical or angry. George was there when Ron and the others were gloating him about Draco; but, coming to think of it, George did not partake in any of it. It would also provide a well-needed distraction from what was happening around the castle. Curious about why George wanted to talk, Harry scribbled a hasty reply and sent if off with the same owl that delivered the initial letter.

Harry was the last to leave the dining hall; all the students had left for their first period classes by the time he stood up. Harry started to walk down the hall when Draco appeared at the mouth of the doorway.

He looked worse than he did before; the bags under his eyes had grown in size, swallowing up his grey eyes whole. His bottom lip looked bitten raw, and his knuckles were red. Despite his appearance, it seemed that all of his pains were from lack of sleep or worry, not from loss of control. Harry let a small amount of the breath he had been holding escape into the tangible thick of air. Draco didn't notice that Harry was in the hall; he continued his journey towards the staff table without looking up.

"Draco!" The call bounced around the now empty chamber, making Harry's voice sound like millions of tiny raindrops.

He looked up and stumbled backwards, nearly falling. He looked startled that someone had noticed him. His eyes searched around frantically, as if what ever had called out his name was about to attack him.

Even when his eyes landed on Harry, his tense posture did not fade. Harry met his stare with his own, if was full of questioning and worry.

Draco slowly opened his mouth to speak, but just as he did so, an owl came flying into The Great Hall, dropping a letter at Draco's feet. Draco flinched as the letter dropped within inches of his black shoes. His stare shifted from Harry to the letter on the ground; he glared at it with a mixture of fiery anger and fear.

Just as Harry dared to take a step forward towards Draco, Draco broke his concentration with the letter. He scooped it up with the tips of his fingers, and moved out of the hall with a swiftness that looked almost magically induced.

Harry stood there for a moment, not comprehending what he just witnessed. A cold feeling started to seep through him and into his bones. Before he could dissect what had just happened any further, a student came rushing into the hall.

"Professor, a Slytherin just cast a bat bogey hex on Toby, and," she shuttered. "It's a mess."

Ripping his mind from Draco, he let the student lead him out of the hall to the source of the bat bogey crisis.

The hex had been surprisingly well placed; it had taken the hospital wing quite a long time to completely remove the affects of it.

The rest of the day, the students came in laughing about Toby's face when the student, who has now been identified as Mary, cast the hex on him. Although the students found the prank to be hilarious, Harry did not. The mess in the corridor was stupendous, and being the only teacher around at the time, he was forced to help Filch clean it up. Harry started to appreciate why the teachers hated Fred and George so much. Listening to Filch bicker about whipping students who didn't follow school policy for forty-five minutes was quite a punishment for something that he did not do.

Towards the end of the day, Harry found himself walking with the students into the dining hall. His attention casually drifted between various conversations until one in particular caught his ear.

"That bang was ginormous!"

"Yeah, I know! The stone walls in the dungeons made the sound echo so loudly!"

"The rumor is that a couple of students heard it the loudest while walking past Professor Malfoy's room."

That was the final straw. Harry was sick and tired of hearing snivels of information about Draco from students' conversations. He was tired feeling helpless in a situation where he didn't have to be. That was the final straw. Harry turned swiftly on his heel and broke into a run towards the staircase that led to the dungeons.

All of the students were up at dinner, so the dungeons were eerily silent. Harry heard his heavy breath echoing in his ears as he picked up his pace. When he finally reached the door to Draco's room, he swung it open without bothering to knock.

Draco sat on his bed with his legs hanging over the edge. He was not wearing wizard robes, only a black tee-shirt and black sweat pants. His pale skin seemed to reflect the little light that was in the room. The single candle threw strange, flickering shadows across his face.

In his hand was a letter; he stared at it with the intensity of a snake stalking its prey. His hands were visibly shaking; his knuckles were white from where he gripped the letter so firmly.

His gaze shot up from his letter as soon as Harry burst into the door. His face flickered between fear and relief.

"Get out, Harry."

"No."

"Get _out._ "

"No."

Harry closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doors in an attempt to look relaxed, but anyone could easily tell his muscles were tense against the wooden panel.

"Harry, I don't want you to be here."

"Well too bad. You have been absent from school, you haven't been eating, and you look like shit." Draco held his breath. His silence was a signal for Harry to continue.

"I had to ask McGonagall what was wrong with you, but she wouldn't tell me. She told me you didn't want to see me. I thought you were hurting yourself again. I figured that we know enough shit about one another that I could help, but I couldn't, because you wouldn't let me. I didn't know what you were doing to yourself. I couldn't stand the thought that you might have been hurting yourself again." Harry's eyes widened in surprise, as if he didn't think he could have admitted that out loud. He took a step towards Draco; instinctively, Draco hugged the letter in his hands tightly to his chest, refusing to let Harry see it.

"I don't want your help." Draco choked. "I need you to get out of my room, Harry, or I swear I will curse you." Although his tone was filled with venom, his eyes portrayed otherwise. His eyes looked vulnerable and scared, as if he wanted to tell Harry what was wrong, but that he could not.

Harry pulled a chair from the small table in his room and dragged it directly in front of Draco. He sat down so his knees were touching Draco's lightly.

"I think you do want my help, but I think you are scared. Draco, let me see the letter."

"I am not scared you git! You can't help me! Get out of my room!"

Draco's eyes widened. It was almost as if he couldn't believe that Harry was still sitting in front of him. Harry decided to ignore his statement, and reached forward until his fingers gently wrapped around Draco's wrist. Harry inhaled sharply as the memories from the locker room came flooding back to him. He temporarily froze, reconsidering what he was doing.

Harry firmly shoved those thoughts aside; what he was doing now was helping a friend in need, and was not relative to anything that happened that day. Whatever had happened then was far and separate from why he was touching Draco now.

Draco watched Harry's hands as they gently folded around his wrists. Although his grip was firm, there was no malice in it, as so many people who he had trusted gripped him before.

"Draco, let me read the letter."

Draco snapped out of his thoughts immediately. He pushed himself off of Harry and into the wall behind him. He balled his knees into his chest, covering the letter protectively.

Harry noticed how small Draco looked; he was no longer his arrogant school mate, but the small boy that watched his mother get tortured, and got beaten by his father. He looked scared and frantic, as if Harry would suddenly lash out and beat him if he didn't comply with his wishes.

"Draco, I am not going to hurt you. I want to help, but I can't do that unless you let me." Harry spoke as if he were speaking to a small child who needed to be reassured that there were no monsters under his bed.

"I can't." Draco's voice waivered. "I can't, I can't, I can't-"

"You can," Harry said firmly. "You can, I know it."

"There is nothing you can do."

"You don't know that unless you show me!" Harry immediately regretted raising his voice. Draco shied away from him immediately. It was not longer just his hands that were shaking. Harry took a deep breath before what he said next.

"Draco, I know your trust has been betrayed in the past; mine has been too. But that didn't stop me from telling you about my nightmares, or you telling me about yours. Part of moving on is learning to trust again, because no man can stay warped in his own brain forever. No one is an island. Please let me help you. Please trust me."

Draco seemed to be struggling for air. His whole body was shaking uncontrollably. Harry could see him fighting a war in his head between trust and habit. His eyes were unfocused; to request his stare seemed like it might overwhelm him.

Very slowly, he unraveled his arm from the tangle of limbs he held closed to his chest. He extended his arm inch by inch. Harry didn't dare and reach out for the letter himself; he thought it would scare him. When the letter was finally being held in front of him, Harry reached for it with light, but precise fingers. Draco let his arm drop and hang from his side. With a deep breath, Harry began to read out loud.

Mr. Malfoy,

The Ministry has carefully considered your appeal to the court, and although well thought out, your request has been denied. A court hearing to determine the freedom of Mr. Lucius Malfoy from Azkaban Prison will be held on Saturday, October thirty-first at ten in the morning sharp. Your presence will be required; fail to do so, and you will be subject to questioning yourself.

Have a wonderful day,

The Ministry of Magic.

Halfway through the letter, Draco had shoved his palms to his ears, as if not being able to hear the contents of the letter would make it go away entirely.

Harry stilled. He didn't know the Mr. Malfoy was still alive. Although no evidence had been shared to prove that he was dead, he had always just assumed that he was. One could only weasel their way around the law so much.

Harry put the letter on the nearside table. Draco's eyes were clamped shut now as well.

"Draco, I put the letter down, you can open-"

"They are going to release him!" Draco suddenly yelled. Harry jumped at his sudden raise in volume. "He still has connections in The Ministry, they are going to release him, and force him to live with me!" Draco's hands now clamped around the blankets that covered his bed. He made no move to cover the fear in his voice. Every time his voice cracked, it was almost as if all of the safety he had felt after the war was slowly seeping out of him.

"Draco, they can only release him if they have evidence! I can help you-"

"Don't you get it? This is what he does! He manipulates everyone around him so he can always find his way back to me! That wasn't the only time he beat me you know!" Draco trembled, a dark aura surrounding him. He stood up and started to pace the room.

"I don't have enough fingers and toes to count the time he has used the Cruciatus curse on me! You don't know what it is like, to be in constant fear of the people you are supposed to love!"

Draco picked up a book and threw it against the wall. Harry sat frozen, glued to his seat. He wasn't sure whether it would be better to let him release his energy, or to stop him.

"Why couldn't my parents have died like yours?" Draco screamed. "Why do my parents get to live, making me live in constant fear and misery?" His lower lip trembled with a mixture of pain and fury.

Not able to just observe anymore, Harry stood up and walked over to Draco. He had no idea what he was going to do, but he knew he had to do something. Draco sent another book flying at Harry's face, causing him to tumble backwards into the chair he just came from. Draco was on the verge of losing control.

"Just when I escape, just when I am finally free, I am sucked back again! As soon as I find a friend who's family doesn't have a history of dark magic, all Hell breaks loose! Just as I find you, my first friend, It all gets taken away from m-"

Harry didn't have time to process anything he had just said before Draco suddenly froze. Harry thought that he was about to faint until he say the same, glassed over expression that preceded his first breakdown. Draco had finally lost it. He had finally lost his control.

This time, Harry was ready. He stood up and grabbed Draco's shoulders just before he started to reach for a glass to hit himself with. He managed to kick Harry in the shins; gritting through the pain, Harry shoved Draco back into a sitting position on his bed.

"Stop! Stop! Please! Let me go! Let her go, Father stop! You're hurting her! Please-"

"Draco, stop."

"Can't you see that she is in pain? Stop!"

"Draco, I am right here. You are right here. Breath."

"Please, please!"

Harry noticed that he had stopped flailing. His eyes looked slightly less glassy, but Harry could tell he still wasn't free of himself yet. Thankfully Harry was able to grab him earlier than he did last time, which made it easier to calm Draco before he was too far gone. Harry shifted one of the hands that had been placed on his shoulders on the back of his neck. His clothes and skin were covered in cold, clammy sweat, but Harry did not care. The hand on his neck drew Draco slightly forward. Harry could feel his erratic breath covering his own.

"Shh, Draco, your mother is fine, she is safe. I am right here. Do you feel the hand on your neck? That is mine. Focus on my hand."

Draco's face flickered between his forced hatred, and something else. His knuckles turned white in the fists he had them clenched in. Both of their heartbeats were racing.

Very slowly, with the pace of a snail, Draco's hand dropped the book that was in it. The book hit the floor with a thud. The loud noise caused Draco to gasp, his hand flying to the back of Harry's neck as well. At first Harry thought that Draco was trying to hurt him, but his grasp was gentle, more to stabilize him than anything else. It brought both of their heads closer together, almost as close as they had been in the locker rooms.

"My mother, she is ok?" Draco whispered.

"She is safe. I am right here, Draco. You are safe too."

Harry truly had no idea where Draco's mother was, but for the time being, he just had to pray that she was ok.

Draco's eyes soon came back into focus. He became aware of where he was once again, how close he was, to Harry, but he didn't seem to care.

Draco slowly pulled on Harry's neck until the foreheads were resting another and they were sharing the same breath.

"What is happening to me?" Draco whispered feebly.

It was a moment before Harry answered. He knew that he was treading on very thin ice; if he said the wrong thing, he would surely slip and crack it, causing he to fall into the icy waters below.

"I don't know. But whatever it is, I will help you. If it is the last thing I do, I will make sure you are safe."

They continued to sit like that for a while. Draco closed his eyes, taking the time to slow his breath, and take in Harry's smell. Neither boy moved. Even though his break down was over, lines of worry and pain still streaked across his face, making him look years older, yet younger at the same time. No matter what he did, Harry couldn't make those lines fade away.

Draco started to whimper. The hand that was not around Harry's neck dropped to his lap, slowly curling around the material of his pants. Harry worried that he was being sucked back into his own thoughts again.

Very slowly, Harry slotted his nose with Draco's. He needed to reassure him that he wasn't going to lose control again. Whether consciously or not, Draco nuzzled Harry back.

As light as air, Harry leaned forward and brushed his lips against Draco's. The motion was so soft, it was almost as if it was never there, as if it was a ghost. A small voice was screaming in the back of his mind for him to stop, that what he was doing was wrong, but he swiftly pushed it away. He had meant what he did. Besides, he didn't think Draco could handle it if he pulled away. It would wreck him.

Draco pulled back slightly; his face contorted between pain and want. Harry did his best to keep his face neutral, but he couldn't help but feel slightly rejected.

The hand in Draco's lap balled up tightly while he squeezed his eyes shut. It pained Harry to see him struggling so much; to be that afraid.

Suddenly, his face still warped with pain, he pushed his lips back onto Harry's, as if he was fighting himself not to do so. This kiss was not like the first one; this kiss was desperate, not consoling and gentle. The kiss was full of anger and pain and the want to escape the horrible, dark place that is reality. This kiss was fueled by fire and want and freedom.

After a moment of shock, Harry kissed Draco back with the same intensity. The hand that was on the back of Draco's neck twisting into his hair, the hand on his shoulder balling up into a fist full of his shirt.

Draco placed the hand on his lap into Harry's lower back, pressing him closer. He pushed Harry into his lap so that he straddled him. His hand snaked up his back and into his hair tugging softly, causing Harry to gasp. Draco used the opening to shove his tongue into Harry's mouth. Their tongues danced together. Harry bit Draco's bottom lip, making him groan. He needed to be closer to him; he needed Harry to make him forget the letter. He needed to forget years of pain and suffering and loneliness. He pressed himself closer to Harry, afraid that he would never be close enough.

Harry broke the kiss to travel down Draco's jaw. Draco let out a low moan, getting lost in the sensation of Harry's mouth kissing its way down his body. Draco's hands found the clasp to Harry's robes; he quickly shoved them off of him, leaving Harry in a gray cotton tee-shirt and pants.

Harry found Draco's pulse point on his neck and started to suck. His teeth grazed over the spot gently before he bit down hard, making Draco gasp and tilt his head to give Harry better access.

Draco's hands slid under the hem of Harry's shirt; he dragged his nails up his sides, causing Harry to groan, and arch into his hands. Harry grabbed at Draco's arm to steady himself.

A cold crash of reality washed over Draco. Harry's hands were not big enough for The Dark Mark on his arm to be fully covered.

Gasping, Draco shoved Harry off of him, and back into his chair. Draco, once again moved back on his bed until his back was pushed against the wall.

Harry looked disheveled. His naturally untidy hair was sticking out at odd angles in the places that Draco had grabbed it. His gray shirt was pushed up his torso where Draco's arms had been. Both boys were breathing heavily, the remains of lust lingering in the air.

"Damn it. _Damn it._ " Draco hissed more to himself than to Harry. "Harry, you have to go."

Surprise fought its way onto Harry's face. In confusion, he start to speak,

"But-"

"Don't you get it?" Draco's building anger broke temporarily on the last word. 'Everyone who gets close to me gets screwed over. Everyone who gets close to me gets hurt. Now I have my father to deal with, and I shouldn't have even dragged you into that." Draco was talking very frantically now.

"But Draco, I told you I would help. I told you-"

Draco took in a very long breath and squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them, they were hard and cold. Any trace of what had just happened was erased from his face. His posture was stiff, his stare unwavering.

"It's Malfoy, _Potter,_ " Draco spat. "Don't you get it? You can't help me. I don't want you, or your help. Your desperate attempt to be the hero is over. Now for the last time, Potter. _Get out of my room._ "

It was Harry's turn to have hurt etched across his face. He felt as if he had emerged from underwater. He felt that reality had just torn him apart, and now he was bleeding on the floor. Harry stood up and stumbled. Under normal circumstances, Draco might have rushed to help him, but this Draco, no, this Malfoy stared at him with a sneer. A sneer that covered all of the broken and raw emotions he trapped inside him.

Once he regained his balance, he walked out of the room into the brightly lit corridor. The torches and light seemed so out of place in such a dark and miserable place.

Silently, Harry walked slowly towards the staircase. He legs felt weighted with iron, preventing him from moving. On the forth step, Harry tripped and fell, landing nose first on the hard marble staircase. He knew it was broken; he felt blood slowly start to trickle down his face.

Angrily, he stood up, determined to carry himself to his room. He lifted his leg to take on the next step, but he quickly lost his balance, and had to lean on the wall for support.

As abrupt as water breaking through a damn, Harry slid down the wall, tears flooding his eyes. He made no attempt to shield himself from passerbys. He lied sprawled across the staircase, his tears mixing with his own blood. And, for the first time in a long time, Harry cried. It was unrestrained, uncontrolled, and wild. And for the first time, Harry didn't have any friends to come and console him.

* * *

Hey guys! I am super excited about this chapter. I worked hard on it, so all feedback would be greatly appreciated. (Also, this is the first romantic scene I have written, so any comments would be greatly valued.) I love your guys' input in the story, and I love to hear constructive criticism, but if you are going to give me some, please tell me in a respectful way. I will be far more receptive if you criticize kindly. :)


	10. Chapter 10

Harry sat with his feet dangling over the edge of his bed. It was early enough Wednesday morning that a morning fog crept across his windowpanes, yet no light shone threw them yet.

It is a strange thing to have thoughts but not to feel any of them. Harry felt as if he were looking at his emotions through glass; he could see them, and he knew they were there, but he couldn't touch or feel them. It was as if his mind was putting up the barrier in attempt to protect Harry from himself. The former night on the staircase, his emotions flooded out of him like water flows out of a broken dam, strong, powerful, and uncontrollable.

But now he felt empty, as if the dam had dried up. He felt hollow, like something could stir inside him, and the noise would bounce off the walls of his body. The floodgates of his mind had opened last night, causing him to be honest and raw, but now they are closed, sealed with iron bars, locked tight. He allowed himself vulnerability last night, he allowed his mind to consume him, but now his guard was back up, his armor back on. Harry wondered if Draco felt the same way.

Harry shuttered involuntarily. The events of the former night slowly replayed themselves across Harry's eyelids.

He remembered the confusion he felt when Draco gave him his trust, but tore it away just as quickly. He remembered Draco's desperateness and loneliness when he kissed him. _You don't know what it is like, to be in constant fear of the people you are supposed to love!_

He remembered how Draco talked about his father with pure hatred and fear. He remembered how he clutched his hands to his ears when Harry read the letter from the Ministry aloud, how his knuckles turned snow white from grabbing his bed sheets. He remembered the way Draco grasped his neck, as if Harry was the only thing that could ground him.

 _What is happening to me?_ He remembered Draco losing his control, like fire over a dry field. He remembered their foreheads touching; he remembered nuzzling his nose with Draco to reassure him, as if he were trying to say _I am here. Please do not be afraid. I want to help you. I hate seeing you break._

Harry sat on his bed for a while longer before he got up to dress himself. He was out of his room and walking down the corridor that led to The Great Hall a few moments after that.

Harry felt the warm morning chatter bounce of the hall's walls and seep into his skin. It was odd to be in such a cheerful environment when Harry did not feel cheerful himself.

He stared at the plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. The steam the rose off of hot food had died down ages ago, his food now turning cold. All around him students were chatting and exchanging notes, eating and copying each others homework. Next to him, Professor Sprout was engaged in what appeared to be a conversation about Mandrakes with McGonagall. On his other side, the chair that was supposed to be filled with Draco was empty. Harry continued to stare at his food.

Professor McGonagall's gaze slid from Professor Sprout's face to Harry's. His back was curved, his head hung low. She could see his hands folded neatly on his lap. He had the look of someone who was very lost in thought.

"Excuse me, Poppy. Harry?"

His posture did not change. His glassy expression remained plastered to his face.

"Harry?" When he did not respond a second time, Professor McGonagall stood herself up and walked over to the empty chair next to Harry. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry, you have been staring at your food as if it has tried to kill you."

Harry's head shot up immediately. His troubled expression was quickly masked, but not gone. He met McGonagall's gaze with a forced smile on his face.

"I am sorry, Professor. I got lost in my own head."

Although his tone was normal, McGonagall sensed that it was only a ploy. She stared at him for a few moments before carefully saying, "Harry, is everything alright?"

His expression quickly became guarded, his eyes became hard. "Yes Professor, I apologize. I was up late grading papers last night." Although his tone was normal, his guarded expression remained. She could tell he was being untruthful.

"Harry, I want you to take today off-"

"Professor, I insist-"

"No, Harry. _I_ insist that you head back to your room to rest at once." Her voice was firm. She had been around Harry far to long not to know when Harry was hiding something. She also knew that his temperament, though it had cooled down with age, was still fiery and quick to ignite. She knew that sending him back to his room would prevent something he may regret doing later.

Harry stood up abruptly and started his trail out of The Great Hall. His cold food remained untouched on the plate that was once right in front of him. He had nothing planned for that day besides teaching, so headed up to his room, preparing to do nothing.

Everything seemed to be bothering him. At first the sun was too bright, then it was too cold, then it was too warm. He tapped his quill angrily on the small desk in his room, only to be annoyed that it was giving him a headache. He felt stir crazy.

When he couldn't take it any longer, Harry hopped out of his chair with such force that it knocked over, and stormed over to the small fireplace he had in his room. He grabbed a fist full of floo powder and threw it into the fire. It took him a moment to remember George's address, but once he did, he stepped into the flames, letting the dizzy feeling engulf him.

He landed in the middle of George's small flat with a large thud. No matter how many times he had traveled by magical means, he would never fully get used to it. He stood himself up onto his feet, and waited expectantly.

As Harry thought he would, George came running into his living room with his wand pointed high.

"Easy George! It's Harry James Potter. In my third year at Hogwarts, you gave me The Marauder's Map so I could sneak off to Hogsmeade."

Even though the war was over, it was still commonplace to properly present oneself. Tensions were still quite high strung in the aftermath of it all.

It was another moment before George put his wand down and a goofy smile climbed its way onto his face. Although it was genuine, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes as it used to.

"Blimey, Harry. I thought I was about to get attacked. What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting up later."

Guilt briefly ran through Harry. He had honestly forgotten that he was supposed to meet George this evening; he just came to his flat because he was the only friend he could think of at the moment.

"Erm… yeah. I just- erm- McGonagall gave me the day off, so I decided to come early."

A mischievous look crept across George's face. "Oh what did you do? Did you set off any dung bombs? Try to save the school again? Find another hidden chamber miles beneath the school with one of the world's deadliest creatures camping out in it?"

"George, I am a teacher."

His grin slightly faltered. "Well if Fred and I were teachers-"

He stopped midsentence. His eyes suddenly seemed glued to the floor, and he started to tangle his fingers together. Was that something he had always done when he was uncomfortable, or had Harry just never noticed?

George chuckled awkwardly. "Sorry mate, old habits die-hard. I am so used to saying Fred and I that-"

 _I haven't really stopped._ Harry completed George's sentence in his head. Harry could very easily relate to George, and by the looks of it, he didn't want to talk about it further.

"Don't worry about it. But now that I am here, what do you think about getting lunch?"

Relief flushed onto George's face immediately. He straightened up his posture and said, "An excellent choice. Some of the restaurants are finally opening back up in Diagon Alley. There is one that makes great hamburgers. Give me a second and we can head out." All of the awkwardness from a moment ago was gone, skillfully masked with a distraction.

George exited the room and returned with a gold and scarlet Gryffindor hat that clashed with his hair horribly. "Alright, I am ready whenever you are."

George led Harry down a flight of stairs that led onto the street. Harry almost forgot that Fred and George's flat was directly above their joke shop, which is why there were stairs in the first place. Harry couldn't help but notice that when they walked past the joke shop, George's pace quickened significantly, and his sight remained glued directly in front of him.

The air outside was crisp and windy. The air around them was finally starting to feel like autumn. Harry tugged his robes tight around him instinctively; he wished he had brought a cloak with him. George, seeing him shiver, said, "Don't worry, the restaurant is just a couple of store fronts down."

It turned out that George was telling the truth. After just a couple more minutes, both boys stood in front of a sign that read, "Patty's Pattys." George chuckled, appreciating the play on words, and walked inside.

The restaurant was somewhere between a lounge and a bar. The metal tables and gray gave the space a rustic feel, but the plush chairs gave the place a comfortable feel about it, as if you could spend hours here just talking. The restaurant was reasonably crowed. Harry could see a swarm of different colored pointed hats and cloaks. The noise was loud but bearable.

George led him towards the back of the restaurant to a table that was slightly closed off from the others. It looked the same as the area by the front of the restaurant, but it was reasonably quieter.

Once both boys sat down, a slim waitress with long shiny black hair walked over and handed them their menus. Harry matted down the hair on his forehead reflexively, not wanting to be noticed. George, on the other hand, looked at her directly in the eyes and thanked her. Harry noticed that his stare was different. When they were in school, George would be cocky almost to the point of arrogance when it came to flirting with pretty girls. In fact, both of the twins were. However, all of his former self was gone in his stare. Harry could tell he appreciated the girl's appearance, but that was all. There were no ulterior motives in his eye contact with their waitress.

"So why did you want to meet up?" Harry questioned after the waitress had left. George leaned back on his chair as if he were trying to remember the reason for asking him here in the first place. When George leaned back up he spoke, "Well we didn't get to talk very much the last time, didn't we? I was also curious why you were defending Malfoy." He added hastily with a smirk.

Harry froze. He had already shoved what had happened the night before as far back in his mind as possible, and once he met George, it had been temporarily forgotten. As soon as George mentioned Draco, it had been like a slap to the face. It must have been showing on his face, because George quickly followed, "Not that I was implying anything!"

It wasn't that Harry didn't trust George; it was just that he didn't want to relive what he had already been over. Last night was the first time that harry had taken of his defensive armor, and look where that got him. He wasn't ready to take it back off, and risk being hurt again.

"Don't worry about it. I honestly don't know why I was defending him." Harry casually deflected.

One look at George told Harry that that answer wouldn't be enough. He stared at Harry with wide, curious eyes, as if Harry were dangling a sweet right in front of him, but he was refusing to hand it over.

Harry sighed dramatically before he continued. "It's just- we are both teachers now, and we have reached a, erm, peace with one another. We both went through the same story, just on two completely different sides of it. He leaves me alone, and I leave him alone."

George seemed to be processing everything Harry had said word by word. He took a gulp of water, which the waitress had brought with the menus. George looked like he was thinking every carefully about what he was going to say next. "Well, the way you were defending him, it almost sounded as if you _liked_ him."

Harry's face immediately hardened. George was getting too close. Harry's mind quickly flooded with memories of Draco's lips on his, the way he felt beneath his hands. Harry gave an involuntary pained shutter; that was over. That was something that would never happen again.

"I do not _like_ him, George. I just understand someone who was involved with Voldemort just as much as I am!" Harry snapped. A couple of heads turned to look at Harry at the sound of Voldemort's name. The name still invoked fear upon many people. When they realized there was no near danger, they slowly turned back around and continued their former conversations.

George looked taken aback. Harry was still staring at him with a completely closed off face. Although nothing had changed, George thought Harry looked like a different person entirely.

"Listen mate, I am sorry-"

"I don't want to talk about it any more." Harry concluded with a tone of harsh finality. Harry leaned back in his chair, his gaze suddenly fixed on a patch of blank wall. Both boys sat in silence until their waitress came over to take their orders.

George didn't know what to say. He thought that saying something would cause Harry to snap at him again, and he didn't want that to happen. He quickly grew bored. He drew out his wand and started to send tiny red and blue sparks across the palm of his hand.

"How has the joke shop been doing? I haven't seen any Weasley products at Hogwarts yet." Harry said suddenly, distracting George from his magic..

It was George's turn to flinch. "I actually haven't opened it since last year."

Before Harry could respond, both of their burgers came. They were ginormous. George immediately picked his up and bit into his excitedly.

Between bites of his burger, Harry asked, "How come?" George swallowed his burger before responding. "Because it reminds me of Fred. Every product in that store we invented together. And I know that where ever he is right now, he is screaming at me to stop being a prick and to reopen the shop, but I just can't." Harry looked at him thoughtfully, but not kindly.

"Have you even gone back into the shop?" George shook his head. "Well, it's settled. Let's go to the shop right now."

Harry knew he was being harsh, but he couldn't seem to stop. Talking about Draco when he wasn't expecting it was like sticking his head in a bucket of ice water; he was left cold and unhappy once it was over. Even though George didn't know what had happened between him and Draco, it had still caused him to bring his guard back up. Harry was being harsh as a way of defending himself.

George nearly choked on the piece of burger in his mouth. "Harry I-" "Well you're going to have to do it at some point, it might as well be now." Harry interrupted.

Harry expected George to be defiant and angry, but from the looks of it, he was neither. George swallowed his food and rested his head in his hands; his eyes were closed. Harry had almost lost concentration by the time George lifted his head. "Fine. Let's go right now."

Both boys stood up, leaving their unfinished food behind. Harry threw a couple of coins on the table, and then followed George outside.

They were both standing in front of the joke shop. Harry looked into the dark windows, while George fixed his eyes on the ground, as if just looking at the shop would be too much for him.

Over their school years, George and Harry were friends, but they were never extremely close. Most of the time, all Harry saw was loud and mischievous George. He was the type of person who could fill up an entire room with his presence. Watching George now, he looked extremely uncomfortable and _small._ It was almost off-putting to Harry. It was a reminder that not everyone is completely who they are on the outside.

"George, you have to look at it."

If Harry hadn't been paying attention, he would have said that George wasn't moving at all. But sure enough, George slowly lifted his head, and at last his eyes to the joke shop in front of him. He inhaled sharply, as if he wasn't expecting to see the shop there at all.

Harry followed George's expression as his gaze slow slid over the shop. His face was unreadable, but his eyes gave away just how uncomfortable he felt.

"I suppose we should go in, shouldn't we? I am starting to freeze out here." George said after a long moment. George slowly walked up to the door of the shop. He dug his hands into his pockets and pulled out a small silver key with a large "W" on encrusted on the top of it. Once the door was unlocked, they stepped inside.

Everything was as it had been left; the only difference was that now everything had a thin layer of dust on it. For a moment George froze mid-step, as if he were contemplating whether this was still a good idea. Finally he stepped fully through the door. Although Harry waited where George was just standing, George slowly walked down the shelves of the store. He let his fingers drag along the items on the shelves, creating patterns in the settled dust.

Suddenly, George stopped walking and picked up a round object off of a nearby shelf. A Fanged Frisbee. George chuckled lightly to himself. "When Fred and I first developed this, we nearly took off Errol's head. Harry smirked, remembering the Weasley's old barn owl.

Next George picked up a handful of Peruvian Dark Powder. "When the Ministry first asked for a mass order of this, Fred and I thought they were joking. We told them, 'yeah right.' Then, we got a letter threatening us!" George laughed louder. He ran quickly over to the small supply of love potions.

"Remember this, Harry? Remember when Ramilda Vane tried to get you to love her?" George started laughing hysterically.

They spent the rest of the afternoon like that. George running around the shop with the energy and excitement of a five year old, telling crazy stories of how the product came to be, then laughing wildly about it. His laughter was uncontrolled, free. It was almost as it was when Fred was right by his side.

After all the shelves of the store had been messed up by George, and all the dust had finger streaks in them, both boys headed outside, and back up to George's flat.

"Is it alright if I use your floo network?" Harry asked.

"Of course! And by the way, do you want another dung bomb before you go? Whatever you do with them, just make sure that you set one off right in front of Filch's office."

George had taken a bag full of his own products back up to his apartment with him. He handed Harry two more dung bombs than he already had.

Harry threw his floo powder into George's fireplace. He was about to step in side when George interrupted him. "Thanks for meeting up with me today, mate! And thanks for-" He nodded to his bag full of Weasly products.

Harry smiled to himself. "No problem. I'll come and visit the next time I can!"

"Mum said that she'll have your head if you don't come around for Christmas!" George shouted just as Harry let the emerald green flames engulf him.

Harry landed in the fireplace of the staff common room. Since the beginning of the day, Harry's mood had increased significantly. George had distracted him from the numb feeling that raced through his fingertips every time he thought of Draco. Although the mental defenses that Harry had put up to protect himself were strong, the distraction that George provided was even stronger. Harry secretly admitted to himself that he was glad McGonagall made him take the day off.

Harry fully stepped out of the fireplace and made his way across the empty common room. On a table to his left sat a small plate of food, as if someone was in here before he was.

His fingertips had just grazed the doorknob when it was pulled away from him.

Standing in front of him was Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Hey everyone! I have not forgotten about you guys!

So I have read so many fanfictions that developed the platonic relationship between George and Harry after the war, and they have always fascinated, yet pissed me off at the same time. I feel like none of them capture George's true essence. We obviously don't know much about George's personality after the war, (so I understand that is open to interpretation) but we do know about George pre-war. Please let me know (kindly, if you can) if you guys think my interpretation of George is some-what realistic. That would make my day.

I also know that this chapter doesn't have much Drarry in it. I did this on purpose. In a real story, the major plot points don't happen in every single chapter; they are spread out. So, along with my whole Drarry story line, I am going to write some other sub-story lines, (like George's) to really enhance the slow build I am trying to achieve.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE don't be afraid to let me know what you think of my story! Constructive criticism is welcome, I only ask that you refrain from delivering it in a rude or hurtful manner.


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